


Ruled by Fire

by firesign



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Beating, Beyond the Wall - Freeform, Birching, Bottom Jon Snow, Bottom!Jon, Dom Ygritte, F/M, Femdom, I love Jon Snow and he's a bottom okay, Jon Snow Loves to Bottom, Jon Snow gets spanked, Jon Snow is the bottomiest bottom in Westeros, Jon feels very happy and cared for, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Porn With Very Little Plot, Slightly skewed timeline, Spanking, Sub Jon Snow, Switching, Threat of Rape, Top Ygritte, Top!Ygritte, Wildlings - Freeform, Ygritte absolutely dominates Jon Snow, mention of cannibalism but no one gets eaten, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign/pseuds/firesign
Summary: After posing as a Wildling for a while, Jon is finally exposed as being true to the Night's Watch. He and Ygritte escape into the north, where Ygritte dominates him in bed. I love Jon Snow and I think he's a total utter bottom. If you're going to get mad at me for that, please feel free not to read this work! Tormund isn't in this chapter but will appear later.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ygritte—what—“

Jon woke up with a start, to strong hands rolling him over onto his stomach. It roused him out of a dead sleep. Before he could protest further, she had his breeches tugged down and was pressing something into his most intimate opening—an opening that was not meant to be breached. “Mmmm!” he groaned through clenched teeth in protest, his body reflexively straining to get away. “What are you doing?”

“Shut your pretty mouth, Jon Snow, or I’ll shut it for you,” Ygritte said. Her thighs squeezed him tightly, one of her hands grabbing his and pinning it behind his back before he could stop her. “A man wakes with needs, doesn’t he? Why shouldn’t a woman?”

Jon breathed heavily out his nose, giving up on fighting, trying to relax his muscles to make it easier for him. How in seven hells could this bring her pleasure? He wondered. Then he winced as she pushed into him, only a little bit but quickly, shocking him.

“There’s my good boy,” Ygritte said. Then she ground her hips into him in a slow, lazy circle. Jon surrendered, letting her take what she wanted. “You enjoy it, don’t you? Go on then, admit it. I know you do.”

Jon sighed and then her fingers grasped tight in his curls, yanking his head up. He hissed in pain. “Answer me, Snow. Don’t southron lords know how to answer their ladies? Do you like it?”

“Yes, my lady. I like it,” Jon admitted, in spite of himself. She twisted his hair harder and he felt a stirring in his groin—the pain, and the way she was with him, so fierce, so powerful. He could fight her off if he really wanted too—maybe he could, anyway, Ygritte was fast and had a surprising strength—but she would only punish him all the worse for it later. She always found a way to punish him. And he always found himself submitting to it, even when it drove him to tears to do so, or when she drove him to tears before he would finally, finally, obey. He’d never known a woman who’d demanded obedience from him before Ygritte. He’d never met a woman who would dare to think she could bend a man to her will. The ladies he’d met at Winterfell were of good breeding, quiet, gentle—apart from his sister, Arya, of course—and Ygritte’s strength thrilled him, captivated him, and aroused him to distraction.

The THING, whatever it was, pushed further into Jon’s hole and he gasped in pain and held himself still, waiting for her to do what she would with him. “You like what?”

“Ygritte—“ he protested.

She yanked his breeches down fast and spanked him. Jon grit his teeth in frustration. She did it all the time, whenever she felt like it. The first time he had made the mistake of laughing. They’d been in the cave where they’d first made love. He’d pleasured her, sent her to screaming with his tongue on her petals, and when she finished, she panted for a few moments, with her hands in his curls before pushing him onto his stomach and spanking his arse. He’d laughed. “What are you on about?” he’s said, and found his face suddenly pushed into the dirt and earth, Ygritte holding him there with one hand, and then lighting into his arse with a belt with the other. He’d jerked at the first swat, but then gone still—too shocked to protest, at first, too intrigued. She’d beat him five or six times before he’d said, “All right, that’s enough—“ and Ygritte had laid down a smack across his ass that made him moan and said, “Take it silently, Snow, or it will only be worse. If you’re going to laugh at your spanking, I’m forced to give you the belt, aren’t I?” Gods help him, he’d surrendered. She’d beat him nearly bloody, then flipped him over and sheathed him, bringing him to climax, Jon beneath her dizzy with pain and reward.

“Don’t answer back to me, boy,” she said now. “You like what?”

“When you fuck me, my lady,” he said.

“That’s right,” Ygritte said, and he could hear the smile in her words. “You like being fucked well and hard, Jon Snow, there’s no shame in that. Just admit it and let those of us who care for you get on with it.”

Us? Jon thought, with concern. Who else was Ygritte referring to? It had been just the two of them for weeks; he had slowly learned to relent to her, to submit—she was stronger than him, after all, she always seemed to bend him to her will—or bend him over whatever boulder or tree stump was convenient.

For three weeks they’d been wandering the far reaches of the land beyond the wall, just the two of them, hiding from the Free Folk, nearly all of whom wanted Jon dead after it had become clear where his loyalties lied. They were fleeing for their lives, and Jon knew that this sort of flight wasn’t meant to be so enjoyable—so filled with pleasure from one moment to the next. But all day, there was Ygritte, her teasing, her intelligent words, her bright flamed hair against the white snow—Jon had never seen a more beautiful sight. And every night, there was Ygritte-the fiery altar he worshiped at between her legs, so intoxicating to him, scented of her, driving him wild. Her tongue on his belly, on his nipples. Her breasts grazing along his jaw bone, or his back, depending on how she chose to take him. She hadn't penetrated him this way before, but she did enjoy turning him on his stomach and riding herself to climax against his arse--a pleasurable position for him as well, allowing him to rut into the earth until he had to beg her for permission to spend. And aye, her dominion over him—his own belt that she forced him to remove and hand over to her to beat him with, a switch that she’d command him to cut at midday and carry in his pack until later, when they would build a fire in one shelter or another and then she’d pull down his breeches and switch him with it. If he protested too much, she only beat him harder. He learned not to protest. He learned the pleasure of earning her praise after the pain. It made him feel strong and soft, both at once.

But this—this was new. Ygritte hadn’t taken him in this opening before. He didn’t know how she was taking him at all. “What are you using on me?” he spoke, his voice husky, his face pressed into the earth.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. Haven’t you ever seen a dragon glass cock before?” she said, pushing it into him a little bit further. Jon tensed. “Ssssshhhh, pretty lord,” she said tenderly. “Relax. Let me in nice and slow, gentle like, and I’ll take care of you, you know I will.”

Jon breathed, trying to do as he was told, to let his muscles relax. When he thought he had managed it, he said, “A dragon glass cock? That doesn’t sound safe.”

“Are you afraid I’ll let it break in your arse?” Ygritte said, her voice gently teasing. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have any damage done to your pretty backside. The glass is too strong to break. And I even oiled it for you. Seeing as how you’re a gentle lord and all.” She pushed it in a little bit further. “Have you really never taken it here before? Some cold night with you and all your brothers bundled into one bed?”

“What? Of course not,” Jon said.

“You expect me to believe that? You boys all stuck in the north, without a woman in sight--save your sisters.”

“I never—you’re talking about my brothers,” Jon said, her weight pressing him into the earth as she probed at his opening. Everytime he thought he could handle it, she would press a little further. He gasped. 

“Half brothers,” Ygritte shrugged. “And one of them--Theon, was it?--just a ward. What difference does it make, anyway, when a man is cold enough, and lonely?”

He couldn't focus on her words properly to make a reply, so overtaken as he was with sensation.“Ygritte, it hurts,” Jon panted, desperate, beside himself.

“I know it does. Can you take it for me anyway? Like a proper lover? I’ll be so proud of you then.”

“Mmmmm,” Jon groaned, with pain and arousal, as she pushed it further in. “Aye, then,” he conceded.

“Aye what?”

“Aye, my lady," Jon said, as she had told him too. "I’ll take it.”

“That’s my good boy,” she said, her voice so warm and full of approval that Jon felt he nearly melted, despite the cold. Then she drove in all the way, sheathing the glass cock inside of him, and Jon bucked and let out a cry.

“Shhh, shhh, hush now,” Ygritte said low in his ear. “That’s all the way. You’re nice and full now.”

Jon realized his jaw was clenched with the discomfort, and that the rest of him must be too. Again, he made an effort to relax his muscles. It worked, a little bit. The discomfort eased some. He still felt full, so full. Like the glass cock needed to come out—but not being able to eject it carried its own strange pleasure. He tried not to squirm.

“You like it? Seeing me like this?” he said gruffly.

“Oh aye,” Ygritte purred, running a hand slowly up the curve of his arse, all the way up his back to his neck, where she rubbed gently for a moment, and then leaned, pushing his hair out of the way, and placed a kiss. “I like it very much.”

“I’ve never known a woman like you,” Jon said. Ygritte pulled the thing out of him, and then thrust it back in slowly, languidly, enjoying herself. Jon drew his breath in long, trembling.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. You fancy folk must not be having much fun down there in the south,” she said. “Hush now. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to fuck you with my cock, nice and slow. This is your first time so it’ll be all the worse. It’ll be easier after this, a little bit every time. After I fuck your pretty arse, I’m going to flip you over and sit right on your face, and you’re going to make me scream, you are. If you do it well, and quickly, you won’t be whipped. But if you don’t—“

“Ahhh!” Jon said, jerking, unable to stop himself, when something—a switch maybe, from the sting of it—lashed across his arse.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lady,” he answered.

“Good,” she said. “Now be strong for me and take your fucking, Jon Snow.” With that, Ygritte pulled all the way out and then thrust back into him, shocking him all over again. Jon clenched his teeth and held his silence, not wanting to show weakness—hoping to please Ygritte.She released the wrist she'd been pinning to his lower back, trusting him not to fight, and he didn't. He settled his cheek upon his left arm and kept his right, his sword arm, still along his side, to show her he would be still, that he'd obey.

At first there was pain. But after she fucked into him a few times, something shifted—Jon felt himself relaxing to accept her dragon glass cock, a warmness pooling in his belly, his head going mellow, like lying in the grass on a warm summer’s day. At Castle Black, so much rested on his shoulders. Every decision fell to him. Men’s lives hung upon what Jon might do or not do. Here, beyond the wall, with Ygritte gradually taking over his every decision—she told him when they would eat and sleep, and had even once ordered him to go take a piss--Jon was able to let his guard down in a way he'd never known before. To place his being in the control of Ygritte. It was painful, and frightening--and wonderful. “There now,” Ygritte said, sensing his body relax, her voice warm with approval. “There’s my good boy. Nice and easy like.” Jon breathed and closed his eyes and invited the sensation into his body. He felt her push in further, but instead of stiffening up, he went soft. “Oh aye,” Ygritte purred, stroking his back from arse to neck. “There we are now. See how you can enjoy it, if you let it?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon murmured, his eyes still squeezed shut, focusing on allowing the intrusion. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome. He took a deep breath and focused on allowing in the sensation, permitting it. Suddenly the cock hit some part of him, and the feeling was exquisite, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. “Ygritte!” he cried, unable to stop himself. “Oh—oh!”

“Found your pleasure stone, did I?” Ygritte said, hitting the spot again, and then again. One of her hands went to his neck and held him there, but also stroked beneath his hair with a finger and her thumb, gentle, soothing. Then she struck that place deep inside of him again and he gasped. It was too much.

“I’m going to finish,” he said. He knew now that he wasn’t supposed to finish without her permission. She’d spanked him for it soundly the first time he had. In a small rebellion, Jon had climaxed without her permission the following night—and then she’d told him to pull his breeches down and lie down on the earth, and gods helped him, he'd obeyed. She'd beaten him close to tears. Trekking across the hard landscape with a sore arse all the next day, then not being allowed to spend for three more, had been enough to teach him, and it felt good anyway, and safe, waiting for Ygritte to tell him what to do.

“What do you say?”

“May I spend, my lady?” he said desperately, stiffening again, raising his groin off the earth in a desperate attempt to avoid the extra friction, because he was going to come whether she said he could or not.

“Go on then, Jon Snow,” Ygritte said mercifully. “Spend yourself, my lovely boy.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jon said, and then Ygritte’s cock hit the tender spot again, gently, and Jon immediately spent his seed into the earth beneath him, groaning with the pleasure of it, the sensations sending him dizzily up into his head and then back down again.

“Such a good boy you are,” Ygritte said, and Jon’s chest swelled at her praise. Then, before he could blink, she flipped him over and did as she’d said she would. Rising onto her knees she shifted forward until her opening was directly above his face. The scent of her was unbearably delicious to Jon and as she lowered herself closer to him, he moved into her without waiting for her permission, burying himself—his tongue, his lips, his nose—into her. He lapped at her, drank of her, and was rewarded as Ygritte’s soft moans of pleasure slowly grew louder and more intense. He drew her pearl in its little shell into his lips and suckled it hard, like a breast, and Ygritte cried, “Oh! Oh!” and then he nipped at it gently, just the shell, with his teeth, before suckling it again. Ygritte was shuddering above him, losing herself, pressing more closely to his face, her juices soaking him, and Jon heard himself let out a wolfish moan at the pleasure of it. The warmth of her, the scent, he felt like he could never get enough. Soon—too soon—Ygritte was finishing, screaming above him. In her pleasure she forgot herself and rested her weight on his face, and Jon nuzzled into her, soaking in her nectars.

“Oh! Oh, Jon Snow!” Ygritte cried, shuddering as the orgasm washed over her. As she finished, she realized she had buried Jon beneath her and rose up again, shifting down so she could look at him. Jon gazed up at her, running his hands along her pale thighs, smiling softly. Covered in her juices. Ygritte smiled down at him, and it warmed him more than any hearth fire, more than the sun. “Oh, you’re a proper lover, you are,” she said, and shifted, lowering herself so that she could rest her head upon his chest, the weight of her body pressing into the length of his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. “You’re not going to wash me off of you. You’re going to walk with the scent of me on you all the day long, to remind you what you get when you’re good.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon murmured softly into her flaming hair, and then kissed the top of her head, and wondered what it might be like, to stay here beyond the wall, with Ygritte, forever.


	2. The Surrender is Stronger Than the Struggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reflects back upon the first time Ygritte switched him.

As a reward, Ygritte didn’t tether Jon to her when they set out, as she had started to sometimes do, although she did tie his hands together in front of him, after they'd eaten some oaten biscuits for their breakfast, and a goose egg. "Just a little game," she'd said, fastening the knots as Jon smiled down at her. "You be good and I'll reward you." He'd surprised her then by snatching a kiss, ducking his head down to catch her lips with his as she focused on the knots. She'd pulled the ropes fast, then put her hands on his face and kissed him back wantonly, giving herself up to it, like she always did. When at last they'd broken apart, she'd grinned up at him. "Come on then, Jon Snow. Can't let the Free Folk catch up with us, can we? They won't be so gentle with you as I."

He walked alongside her, trusting her knowledge of the land north of the wall to keep them safe from the Free Folk, the Others, the Fenns. It was a bright day, but cold, always cold. They’d been moving for about an hour when Ghost appeared, back from roaming whatever lands he’d roamed the night before, and fell into place alongside Jon. 

Ygritte was quiet, which allowed Jon’s mind to roam. Looking down at his bound hands, he thought about how he’d allowed himself to end up here in the first place. When Mance Rayder had brought the two captured brothers of the Nights Watch before him, and commanded Jon to kill them as proof of his loyalty, it had finally been too much. He had tried to prove himself one of the Free Folk, and failed. Qhorin Halfhand’s voice had rung in his head as he’d stared down at his Brothers, Orrin and Glen, two young black brothers glaring back at him with hatred in their eyes, for the betrayal they believed he'd committed. Qhorin has told Jon to do whatever was necessary to prove his loyalty to the Wildlings. Jon has gone so far as to raise his sword, all of them watching him—Ygritte and Rattleshirt and Mance himself—but when it came to it, he couldn’t strike the blow. “I told you he’s a bloody Crow,” the Lord of Bones had said, and lunged for Jon. Chaos had broken out then. Fighting. And Ygritte had killed Rattleshirt, and Jon had disarmed Mance. Ygritte trained an arrow at the King Beyond the Wall, the two of them backing out of the tent together, and running for safety. 

“Why’d you do it?” he’d asked her, that first night on the run. “You could have stayed with your people.”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” Ygritte had said, striking flint for a fire. “I spoke for you, didn’t I? Told them to trust you, I did. They’d‘ve had my head right next to yours, if I had stayed. Would have killed me for a traitor.”

He’d already been her lover for weeks, by then. With the Freefolk, Ygritte had been straight forward and plain about her desires, just not so dominantly as she’d begun to prove now they were out on their own. It had started with small commands, simple things—“kiss me there, Jon Snow”, “take your breeches off, boy,” and Jon has complied happily. He liked that she was a bold lover, that she wasn’t shy or retiring, didn’t wait for permission. But as the nights wore on it had grown into this—whatever this was, Jon walking beside his lover with his hands tied as if he was a slave or a prisoner—and it felt like the ground he’d given couldn’t be reclaimed. 

He remembered the first time she'd switched him. A few days after they'd had to flee the Free Folk. A terrible tension had grown up between them. Jon had known he was being silent and withdrawn, but hadn't known how to shake it. Every time he looked at Ygritte he was filled with guilt. She'd lost everything, for him. Her people, her safety, her home, all because Jon had lied to her about where his loyalties lie and then proved himself unable to follow through with his duty once it became rough. Once it meant killing his own men. All this he'd done while taking her as his lover, into his skins at night. Ygritte was bold and fearless and saw nothing to be bothered about by taking him while they camped with other Wildlings around them, and no walls or even tent, just Jon's bedskins between them and the rest of the world, everyone free to hear their love making. Because of this, everyone knew they were lovers. Everyone knew they belonged to one another. Once they'd fled together into the wild, it had begun to weigh on him, until he could barely look at her.

And then, one morning, over their breakfast fire, after Ygritte had tried speaking to him only to receive grunts and one word replies, she had finally had enough. "I can't live with a man who holds sullen silences," she'd said. "Go over to that copse of trees and cut me off a switch, Jon Snow. Bring it back to me. And be quick."

Jon had frowned, failing to see what his silence had to do with her need for more firewood. He'd complied quietly. "Just one?" he's said.

A wicked sort of grin had crept across her face then. "Aye, just one to start. We'll hope it's enough."

Perhaps she wanted to skewer some bit of game or wrinkled apple and hold it over the fire, he'd thought. Jon went to a young sapling and cut a switch, bendy but firm enough to support weight. He brought it back to where she sat by the fire, whittled the little twigs off of it with his knife, and then held it out to her. Watching him, she took it. But when Jon went to sit again, she said, "Just what do you think you're doing now?"

He sighed, frustrated, tired. "If there's something else you want me to do, just tell me, and I'll gladly do it." Ygritte could take care of herself, but of course he wanted to help bear the load. He tried to do most of the work, carrying the heavier pack, starting the fires, gutting and skinning whatever small game they hunted or Ghost brought back. 

"Glad to hear that, I am. Take down your breeches, Jon Snow, and bend over that fallen tree there. Let me see that pretty arse."

"Ygritte," he'd said quietly. "I'm not in the mood." They hadn't made love the night before. Jon couldn't look at her without thinking on how he'd ruined her for good.

"I didn't ask if you were in the mood, did I?" she'd said, something commanding in her voice.

Jon had looked at her more closely then. "And just what are you intending to do with me, once I'm there?"

Her eyes on his, Ygritte raised the switch and then brought it down across her palm. "I'm sick as can be with your moping and carrying on, Jon Snow. It doesn't become you, not like this. You've always been subject to your moods, but this is different. Seeing as how I'm yours now, and yours alone, I"m going to have to see to it, aren't I?"

"With a switch?"

"Remember when I beat you half bloody in the cave? You want another taste of that? I'd hate to do it, but I will."

"No," Jon said quickly, wincing at the memory. He hadn't sat comfortably for days, and had taken the lesson that it was better to listen, and to yield, to Ygritte the first time.

"Then take down your breeches and bend over that tree. I've told you twice now, I won't be pleased to tell you again."

"Ygritte," he'd said, a plea, a protest. "Please."

"You'll call me 'my lady' when I'm punishing you like this," she'd said. "Not like any lady you've ever known, I'd bet."

Jon had nodded. This he could do. "Please, my lady. Don't--"

"Are you such a craven, Jon Snow? Never took you for one before, but now here you stand before me, afraid to take a switching from your woman. Did your father not switch you, is that it? You've never felt the like, before?"

"He did," Jon said. "Switched us, and whipped us to, when we needed it, Robb and Theon and I." Tears sprung to Jon's eyes, tears of frustration and humiliation both. He wanted to do what was right, he wanted to obey her, and yet some defense in him was built up too strongly, to allow him to just submit himself as she was asking him to do. Before, in the cave, he hadn't had a choice. The beating had happened before he'd known what was going on, before he'd had a chance to protest. That had made it easier to surrender to it--he'd been forced to. But now Ygritte was ordering him to submit himself. When he had withdrawn almost entirely within himself. It was too much.

She watched the tears roll down his face. "What's so hard about it, loveling? You're in a bad way, aren't you? It's clear you need this, and I think you know it too. Can't you just let yourself obey your lady, like a good lord does?"

He'd opened his mouth to speak, but words hadn't come out. Just more tears. He shook his head at her. 

"You're going to submit to this switching, sooner or later, Jon Snow," she'd said. "How bad it gets is up to you. You do as I'm telling you now, I'll give you a brisk hard punishment and you'll be able to move on, all relaxed and sated again. If you don't bend over and let me get on with it, it's only going to get worse. I know it's not the pain you're afraid of. You're humiliated by it, you are. Is that right?"

Jon swallowed hard and nodded once.

"I could tell you til my face turns blue that it's nothing to be ashamed of, needing what you need. But that won't do me a bit o' good, I sense. But know this, my pretty little lord--you don't get on with this, and I'm going to have you stripped naked and walking before me throughout the whole day, bending over any boulder or tree stump I desire, or over my own knee, to take a spanking, here and there and everywhere, all the day long. And when we rest for the night, it won't end then. You know nothing, Jon Snow. You have no idea, the things I can do to you. But if you want to find out, you just try me, love. Be strong now, lover. Do as you're told."

It was the command in her voice, like an order, that had finally done it. Jon was used to orders. Blinking rapidly against the tears that refused to stop forming in his eyes, he had finally nodded quickly, and, forcing himself not to think about it, went over to the fallen tree she had indicated, so thick around that it came nearly up to his waist. Once there, he began the work of taking down his breeches, doing it quickly, so as not to stop himself. He'd undone his swordbelt and let his sword in its scabbard fall to the ground. He'd unlaced his breeches and pushed them down, the cold air hitting the skin of his thighs and arse, his cock and stones, making him feel intimately exposed. Quivering with embarrassment, he'd sucked in his breath then and gathered his shirt and his tunic up in his hands, lifting them, exposing his arse, and then forced himself to bend down, across the tree, his arse high and stark naked and exposed, letting out a little shudder as he did so.

"Oh my Lord Snow," Ygritte had purred. "Look at you there. Look how good you are."

Tears were pouring freely down his face, from the humiliation of it. He let them flow, now that Ygritte couldn't see. He said nothing.

"Your lady spoke to you," Ygritte warned. 

"Yes my lady," Jon said quickly, suddenly feeling very motivated not to do anything to anger her further. "Thank you, my lady."

"That's more like," she said approvingly, and placed her hand on the pale skin of Jon's arse. He flinched at the touch, and then relaxed. "Shhh, shhh, shhh, my little filly," she said. "Bit anxious, are you? I'll warn you, this time, before I start. Aside from when I beat you before, you've never taken a thrashing from a woman, have you? Or anyone, besides your da?"

"No, my lady," Jon said. 

"All right, then. In a moment I'm going to give you a warning, and then whip you with this here switch you cut me so nicely, until you cry harder, or mayhap stop crying altogether, depending on what sort you are and what I'm in the mood for. We'll have to find out.But first I want you to know something. This brooding and silence you've been giving me, it ends here. I'm going to beat you clean, and you're going to move on from whatever it is that's holding you down. Is that clear to you, Jon Snow?"

"Yes, my lady," he'd said, but his voice had broken.

"Oh, now. You're feeling something deeply, aren't you, Snow? They keep you far too buttoned up in the south. A boy should be taught how to handle himself, with these feelings. Go on then. I'm your lady and you'd best tell me what it is, so I know exactly what I'm beating you for."

"Ygr--my lady," he'd said, frustration causing him to slip. "You've got me crying like a child, bent over a tree, NAKED, and now you want me to talk to you about it?"

She'd sighed. "I said I'd warn you, so here it is. I'm going to switch you now, Jon Snow," she'd said. "Are you ready?"

"My lady--" he'd begun to protest. She'd grabbed a fistful of his thick black hair and twisted, leaned down close to his ear, and hissed.

"I said, are you ready?"

"Yes, my lady," he'd corrected himself quickly. "Thank you. I'm ready."

"That's better," she'd said, and then she'd brought the switch down across his arse, hard. Though he'd known it was coming, the pain of it had surprised Jon, and he'd bucked. 

"Now once across your thighs," she said.

"Yes my lady," Jon said quickly, and then the blow had landed, stinging the backs of his thighs, smarting so badly that fresh tears jumped to his eyes, and he sucked in air.

"And now once on your pretty little hole--"

"What?!" he'd said, pushing up off the log, attempting to stand. But Ygritte was prepared for that. She'd pushed him back down, slamming his chest into the fallen tree, knocking the air out of him.

"You defied me, Jon Snow. I told you to talk, and instead you spoke back, like a spoiled little prince. Is that what you are? A spoiled little lordling?"

"No--no, my lady," he'd said. "But--"

"For defying me you get it right on your hole, and that's how it will always be," Ygritte said, and then he'd felt her pushing his cheeks apart with one hand, the rush of cold air. Before he could think, or act, the switch came down right atop his arsehole, and the pain of that punishment on all those hundreds of nerve endings had undone him. He'd let out a roar.

"That fucking hurt!" he'd spat.

"O' course it did, I just switched your bloody hole," Ygritte said. "It'll be even bloodier if you don't quit your carrying on. Obedience is worth nothing if you only do it when it's easy. That was for defying me, Jon Snow. Don't do it again. Tell me what all these silences and pouts are about."

Jon had drawn in his breath, long and slow, his jaw clenched together, and then finally relented. "It's because of what--"

"How do you start proper?" she'd said. 

Jon had puffed air out his nostrils, gritting his teeth. For fuck's sake, he'd thought to himself, but hadn't been foolish enough to say it out loud. "Yes, my lady," he'd said, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. Ygritte had touched the switch to his arse, then, pushed it in just barely between his cheeks, teasing, or warning, and he realized he'd better not take a tone with her. "Yes, my lady," he'd corrected, sounding properly respectful. "I've been silent with you because of what I've done to you. The guilt of it--it weighs on me, day and night."

"What you've done to me?" Ygritte said, with genuine confusion. "You mean that thing you do with your tongue? That's far from something to be guilty about--"

"Not that," Jon said, letting out a reckless little laugh at the idea of that--him feeling sorry for bringing her pleasure that way.

"You laughing at me, Jon Snow?" Ygritte had hissed. 

"No! No my lady. I'm sorry. I forget myself." He waited to see if the switch would fall again.

It didn't. Ygritte would give him a chance to explain. "Go on then. What are you feeling all guilty as a kneeler over?"

"When I couldn't kill those men," he said. Those boys, really. Sworn men of the night's watch, but no older than 14. "And exposed myself as loyal--"

"As a traitor, you mean," she'd said.

Jon had paused, not knowing what to say to that. "Exposed myself as lying to you and the Free Folk, aye," he conceded. "When I did that, I endangered you. You had spoken for me. I was yours, and then I betrayed your people. Placed you in danger. And you can't go back to them now, can you? I ruined--everything. I ruined everything for you, Ygritte. I'm so sorry."

He didn't know what she would say. He waited. She said nothing. He drew in a breath and waited for the switching to start. But it didn't. The moment stretched on, and on, Jon waiting for Ygritte to scold him, or begin to punish him. Finally, he could take it no longer. "My lady?" he said softly.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow," she said. "I weren't angry before, but I'm furious now. Your arse is in for it, truly it is."

Jon squirmed nervously, his cock rubbing up against the rough wood of the tree. "I'm sorry, my lady. I know I deserve it--"

"What did you think of me? That I was so craven I'd leave my man and let him run off into a land he doesn't know, all by himself? That I'd turn my back on you, simple as that? Here comes the switch," she said, and then Jon felt the switch bite into his arse with such a fury that he bucked again, despite his desire to hold still, and moaned. "How could you think that of me? What do you take me for? Answer me. Switch," she said, and switched him again.

"Ahhh!" he cried at the terrible sting of it. "My lady! I don't understand."

"Do you take me for a craven? Switch!" she switched him. Jon moaned, nearly breaking into a sob.

"No-o-o, no, my lady. Of course I don't."

"Well then what are you moping about for?"

"My decision--my deceit--took everything from you. I lied, Ygritte! I lied to the Free Folk, to Mance Rayder, to good women and men. I made them believe I was something I'm not. I made you believe it too. I let myself belong to you, before all their eyes. And then, when I couldn't keep it up any longer, I cost you everything. My lies lost you everything. You lost everything, because of me."

Jon was stunned when Ygritte grabbed the back of his winter furs, and pulled him up, spun him around to face her, and then slammed him back down against the tree. He landed hard with a grunt, searching desperately into her eyes.

"I want you to look into my eyes when I say this," Ygritte said. "I'm a Free woman. Of the Free Folk. Do you understand? There's no man in the world that can own me. A man might steal me, sure, as you did in the beginning, but whether I stay with him or not, that's up to me. There's no man on this earth who can hold me. Not Mance, not Rattleshirt, not Tormund, and certainly not you. If I didn't want to be here with you, I'd of slit your throat while you slept. Is that clear?"

"Yes my lady," Jon had said, bewildered. 

"I left with you because that's what I chose to do. A man who would try to take that from me is no man. He's a craven. You don't own me and you don't own my decisions, and you never will. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jon Snow?"

"Yes, my lady. Ygritte," Jon had said, overcome with feelings for her, his fire woman. "Yes, my love. I am yours, and you are mine."

"I am yours and you are mine," Ygritte repeated fiercely.

"May I kiss you?"

"No," Ygritte said, and then she'd leaned down and pressed her lips into his, hard, kissing him, taking in his tongue, biting it. She bit his lower lip, drew it out between her teeth, then released it and thrust her tongue into his mouth again. He moaned, stirring for her, wanting the comfort of her, her body against his, her breast in his palm. Abruptly she pulled away and looked hard into his eyes. Jon gazed back, panting.

"I love you," he said. "My lady."

“I know you do, Jon Snow,” she said. “Now bend back over that tree and let your woman take care o’ you.”

“Yes my lady,” Jon had said, and had finally, finally, done as he was told. 

“I’m going to switch you now, and it’s going to go on for a long while. You’ll feel better when it’s over, you’ll see. Are you ready now?”

“Yes my lady,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice strong and calm for her. “I’m ready.”

“All right then,” Ygritte said, and Jon had felt the switch brought down across his bare arse. He held himself still this time, prepared for the blow and the pain. Ygritte switched him again, and then again, and each time there was the queer whizz the switch made in the air as she brought it down upon him, quick and forcefully. She switched his arse again, and then the back of his thighs, and then his arse, three times in a row on the same spot, and against his will Jon had let out a little moan. 

“Is this what it was like, when your father whipped you?”

“More or less,” Jon said, and then grunted under another blow. Lord Stark had been careful not to show favoritism among his boys. Theon had been the most likely to earn a whipping, followed by Robb, and when one of them had needed punishing, they all would be. Lord Stark had intended for it to foster a sense of equality among his boys. But for Jon it had only meant dozens of punishments he wouldn’t have taken, otherwise. He didn’t resent Robb, or Theon, or even his Lord Father, but it occurred to him now that another man might have. 

“Did he use a switch?” Ygritte asked, and brought her own down across the backs of his thighs, hard. 

“Mmm!” Jon cried out. “What? Erm. A belt, more often, my lady. His belt.”

“What lovely little sounds you make,” Ygritte said. Jon could hear the smile in her voice; he didn’t know whether to be comforted or angered by that. “I’m going to whip you good and hard now, and you make all the pretty little sounds you want to make, Jon Snow. You won’t lose no face for that.”

“Yes my lady,” Jon said. He had barely gotten the last word out when Ygritte made good on her promise, and lit into him hard with the switch. The swats began to fall fast and furiously, Jon gasping on one, and the next following after it before he could breathe out. Jon was no stranger to pain, so he was shocked to hear the moans and cries coming out of his mouth. He had wanted to take his punishment quietly, with dignity, but the rapidity of the blows made that impossible, throwing him off his balance, leaving him without anything to cling to. 

“My lady,” he said, panting, as Ygritte focused on one specific part of his arse, landing one blow there after another, after another. “My lady! Mmmm!” His hips were squirming and he felt himself buck as she landed the switch on him, hard. He was making a fool out of himself. 

“What is it, love?”

“I—I—“ he didn’t know what to say. He had been about to say “it hurts”, but he didn’t want to seem like a craven, and that would have been stupid, anyway—of course it hurt, it was supposed to. That was the whole point. 

“Mmm!” He groaned under another flurry of blows. “Thank you, my lady,” he said, not knowing what else to do. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“Ohhh my,” Ygritte purred, and then chuckled again. “You did, did you? What a darling little thing you are.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he panted, and she had continued to switch him, hard, each swat falling one after the other. Jon panicked and trembled all over and slipped in the snow a bit, losing his footing, grabbing onto a dried out branch to avoid falling. Clinging to the tree for purchase, the pain growing intense enough to make him shake, Jon finally realized how foolish it was to try to pretend she wasn’t hurting him, and gave in, and let the tears roll down his face.

“There’s a good boy, now,” Ygritte said soothingly, all the anger gone from her voice. “There’s such a good boy. You’re going to feel much better soon, you are.”

“Yes my lady,” Jon said through the tears, though if she had asked him, he would have admitted that he felt better already. The switching had started with a mild pain that had now grown incredibly intense, and he went limp over the tree, all the fight gone out of his muscles, and let Ygritte whip him. 

“Oh love, you take it so well, you do. Once you finally settle and let yourself take it. The surrender is stronger than the struggle, don’t forget that,” Ygritte said, and Jon felt his cock stir at her praise. He was shocked to find that he was capable of hardening, under such pain, and then his mind flashed briefly to a memory—Theon teasing him, noticing his cock had gone rigid after Father had whipped them all on their bare arses, japeing that Jon was roused by the sight of Theon himself, naked. Jon blushing brilliant red and hurrying to pull his breeches up before Robb could see. 

The memory was gone as quickly as it came, and there was only the clean sharp pain of his switching and the sound of Ygritte’s voice, comforting him. “I love you, my lady,” Jon heard himself saying. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Then the whipping stopped. “Others take me,” she said. “My pussy can’t listen to you like this a minute more without bursting. What a good boy you are, and so strong. You feel better now, don’t you?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, his cock so hard from Ygrittes words he thought it might dent the wood where he jutted into it. “Please May I—Please,” he begged, desperate to pleasure her. 

“Aye, you may,” she said. “Your punishment is over. Give me the Lord’s Kiss, Jon Snow.”

“Yes my lady,” he practically growled, pushing up off the tree and turning, dropping to his knees before her. She was still fully clothed, he took the laces of her breeches in hand and worked at them quickly, anxious to get them off her. Ygritte put her hands in his hair and watched, looking down. 

“How I love your curls,” she said. Jon glanced up at her, briefly, smiling, and then he had the laces undone and he yanked her breeches down, nearly pulling her down with them. 

“See how hungry it made you, sweet boy?” Ygritte said, but Jon had already been too distracted by the scent of her, salty and sweet, and her damp heat. Digging his fingers into her arse and yanking her toward him, He opened wide and put his entire mouth on her, trying to drink her all in at once. He suckled hard and was rewarded by a little gasp. She hadn’t lied; she was wet indeed, and throbbing, Jon could feel the heat coming off of her. He drank her juices for a moment, greedy, and then pulled back and gazed up at her, feeling her wetness all upon his face, cool in the air. Her eyes had been closed but they fluttered open and she looked down at him. 

“What is it?” she asked in mild distress at the interruption, panting. 

“Were you truly so roused, by that? Seeing me like that, hearing me moan and cry?” 

“You know NOTHING, Jon Snow. Can’t you bloody well see that I was?” Ygritte said, genuinely confused, and then she dug her fingers into his curls and yanked his face back toward her openings. Jon went back to work obediently, using his tongue, pushing it deep between her private lips, and Ygritte gasped and then managed to say, “Aye, of course I was, and you were bloody well roused by it too. That’s a beautiful thing, Jon Snow.” And then Jon had pushed his tongue inside her, not just deeply into her lips but all the way in, and Ygritte let out a noise that sounded more helpless than he had ever imagined her capable of sounding. Jon had wrapped his arms all the way around her, his thick biceps on her full hips, his forearms against her arse, and pressed her into him as hard as he possibly could, his every breath full of the scent and taste of her. 

He took his time, aware now that women seemed to take longer than men, or that Ygritte took longer than he did, at least, and that her coming, when at last it did come, often seemed to be more intense. Tirelessly he alternated between using his tongue, his lips, the full of his mouth, even his nose, until her moans at last grew more frantic and he knew he had found the right rhythm. “Oh Jon Snow!” she cried, and her grip tightened in his hair, as if she was hanging on for dear life. “Jon Snow—oh—oh,” and Jon knew she was coming, from the way she thrust into him, practically riding his face. It made him unbearably hard. 

Ygritte had quieted then, and for a moment Jon held her to him, pressing his cheek into the hair between her legs, as brilliant and red as that on her head. She petted his hair gently. When her breathing slowed, Jon pulled away and gently pulled her breeches back up, mindful of the cold, settling them over her hips and arse and then beginning to tie the laces. 

“What are you after?” Ygritte said, her voice a bit softer than usual. “Last I saw you were hard as dragon glass between those legs.”

Jon flushed, and looked up at her. “I didn’t want to assume, my lady. After you punished me like that, I wasn’t sure if I—if you—if I was allowed to spend.”

“Fucking hell,” Ygritte breathed, but not like she was angry. More like she was in awe. “Seven hells, Jon Snow. Seven fucking hells. Are you certain you’re real?” she teased, and Jon beamed at her as she reached down and tweaked his cheek, gently, between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Do I feel real?” Jon asked. 

“Only one way to know,” Ygritte said, and then she knelt down and firmly gripped his rock-hard cock in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it and squeezing, ever so slightly. “Oh now this,” she said. “This feels very, very real.” Then she wrapped her other hand around his still-bare backside and dug her fingers into his punished flesh. Jon winced slightly but said nothing, his eyes still on her, smiling. Ygritte began to stroke his cock, up and down, slowly at first. 

“I want to watch you make yourself come. Can you do that for me?”

Immediately Jon’s smile turned into a frown. Before he could even answer, Ygritte grinned. 

“No, then. Not yet, anyway. Alright then, Jon Snow,” she said, and continued stroking him. Jon’s eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted open, slightly. Ygritte watched him with admiration, the sight of those full pouty lips parted in pleasure a pleasure in itself. A bit of early spend leaked out the tip of her lover’s cock and she thumbed at it, watching Jon gasp, and then used it to moisten his pillar, making the stroking that much more pleasurable. She could tell from the little furrow that came to his brow, the frown that was not a frown. Seven hells, this man was beautiful. She stroked him more quickly. She had some practice at it, knew the rhythm Jon liked, the pressure, from their nights together under his bedskins. In practically no time at all, she was watching her lover's face twist into an expression of beautiful pleasure and pain, and then he gripped the back of her neck and pulled her toward him and pressed their foreheads together as he spent into her hand and onto the ground, his mouth open, gasping out more of his gorgeous little sounds. He did it without asking her permission, Ygritte noted, but she'd let him get away with it this time, wouldn't scold him for it now, when he was so gentle from his beating, and soft. 

They hadn't had long but they'd taken a moment, there in the snow. Jon opened his eyes, they were gentle on her, and smiling, and drew her toward him, held her against his chest. "How did you know that would make me feel better?" Jon asked. "Has anyone ever done that to you before?" Then he'd let out a soft little huff of laughter, just at the thought of someone trying.

"Aye, someone did, once," Ygritte said. "I weren't suited for it."

This surprised Jon. He couldn't imagine Ygritte submitting to what he'd just submitted to, for anyone. She laughed a little, at his silence. "It's no shame among the Free Folk, I keep telling you."

He had stroked her red hair. "And I am? Suited for it?"

"More suited than anyone I've ever known. You're a right wonder, you are." She'd nuzzled her face into his neck, inhaling, and then, sighing, pulled away. "Come on, Jon Snow. We've got to keep moving or the Thenns'll find us here with our pants down, mooning in the snow."

Jon had stood, drawing Ygritte up with him. He'd pulled his breeches back up and fastened them, replaced his sword belt. He could still feel the heat of his whipping, but it was mild, and brought him pleasure, and pride. That he'd been able to take that, for Ygritte. 

Then they had set out to spend another entire day trekking across the snow and ice. Just like today, and all the days that had fallen in between. Jon glanced at her now, next to him, and then down at his bound wrists. She hadn't tied him that day, after the switching. Nor spoken of any dragon glass cock. Jon's brow furrowed . He opened his mouth to say something to her, ask her about it, jape, anything, but the words didn't come, and he shut his mouth again, and walked along beside her, silently, deep in thought.


	3. We Do Not Kneel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes a bid for freedom. It backfires.
> 
> CW: this chapter contains the mention of and the threat of rape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all
> 
> Well, I wrote myself into a bit of a corner with this fic. I intended to write just a few one-offs about Ygritte and Tormund domming Jon, however, to get our dear Jon to that point in something close to a believable way took more time and plotting than I anticipated. Which brings me to PLOT. This was meant to be basically porn without plot, however, again, to get the Jon of this fic to the point where he is willing to submit to Tormund and Ygritte took some maneuvering. 
> 
> Please know that I don't consider plot my strong suit, and I appreciate your generosity as I fumble a bit through it here. When I first posted this story, I imagined Jon was already Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; however, as I got further into it, it became clear that wasn't going to work, so I've gone back and ret-conned my own story. Jon is not Lord Commander yet. The main thing to know is that this fic should not be read primarily to find out what happens with Jon and Mance and the Others, etc, but for the relationship between these three characters and the spanking and bottom!Jon scenes.(The events of Jon's life should more or less follow the show from here out.) That said, this chapter contains relationship building but no sex or spanking scenes. I wanted it to, but it made for a massive chapter, and so I've broken it up. Sex and spanking are in the next chapter, if you want to skip straight to that.
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me.

“Ygritte,” Jon said. “What did you mean, earlier, when you said 'us'? 'Let those of us who care for you get on with it,' what was that?”

“Tormund,” Ygritte answered simply. “He took a liking to you. I thought you took one back.” 

_Tormund?_ “I like him, of course I do. But what did you mean, exactly?”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. I meant what I said. That when the time comes for you to yield to him, you ought to submit and do it graceful like, rather than fight and struggle. As befitting a lord.”

Her voice was teasing and light, but to Jon this was not a japeing matter. He stopped walking and turned to face Ygritte. “What are you talking about? You’re not saying that you mean to—to GIVE me to Tormund? Like I’m only a blade or a bow?”

Ygritte smiled her wicked smile. “How I love your blade,” she said, reaching for his groin. "Can't you imagine me taking it in my mouth while Tormund takes you hard from behind? Or the other way around, if you’d like.”

Jon swatted her away. "Am I your slave?” he said. 

Ygritte was taken about. “O’ course not. There are no slaves, among the free folk.” 

Jon held his hands toward her. “It looks different from here.”

“You liked it well enough not an hour ago, Jon Snow. What's changed you? You obeying me, letting me tie you up, letting me fuck you—it isn’t about you being my slave. It’s about you being my lover. You like it, I can tell. Or at least, your cock does. Why won't you let yourself have what you like?"

She wasn't wrong. And yet it troubled Jon, all the same. It wasn’t so simple as she made it sound. "My brothers of the watch," Jon said. "The Lord Commander. What would they say, if they saw you whipping me?"

"You planning on inviting your brothers into our bed?" Ygritte said. "I hope it's only the pretty ones."

The thought made Jon's chest swell possessively."No, of course not--"

"Then what does it matter what you do? They won't know, if you ever go back to them. What you and I are doing is no shame among the Free Folk. And your little crows, well, they aren't here, are they? No one for a hundred miles but you and me. And maybe some Thenns," she said, her distaste for the Thenns showing on her face. She sighed. "You're going to fight me on this, aren't you? How much easier it would be if you'd just lie back and let me rule you, Jon Snow. Oh, what a pleasure it would be. You might even start to smile, sometimes."

For a long moment, Jon said nothing. Just took in her beautiful face, her eyes bright and shining at him, her hair a glowing flame against the snow. It was true, what she said, all of it. But he couldn't help but feel he'd surrendered something. Given too much. He had broken his vows. Killed Qhorin Halfhand, of his own Brothers. He needed to get back to the wall. To tell the Watch that the Wildlings were coming, but that the greater threat was the army of the dead, coming for them all. He needed to clear his head.

"Seven hells, Ygritte," he swore. "You've got me so dizzy, I can't tell which way is up."

"Take down those breeches, and let me settle you," Ygritte said. “A nice hard thrashing sets a man like you straight.”

Jon took a step back, and held out his hands. "If I'm not your slave, prove it. Cut me free, and let me go."

Now it was Ygritte's turn to study him. "Wouldn't you take care of me, if I needed you to? Put your body between me and an arrow, if necessary?"

"Of course I would, Ygritte. You know I would."

"Because you're mine, and I'm yours. This is how we are, Jon Snow. You can't just walk away from it. Not when we're bound together the way we are. Not when deep inside, you want me like you do."

"Only one of us is bound," Jon said, steeling himself. "Unbind me."

Ygritte sighed. Jon thought she might fight him, but when she drew her knife, she only held it, watching him. She didn't attack. "You go now, you're going to have to pay the price to me when you come back. Don't say I didn't warn you, when the time comes."

“You’re going to whip me, is that it?”

“Aye,” she said. “I am. But only because you’re going to ask me to.” 

_No I’m not_ , Jon thought, but didn’t say it, aware it would make him sound like a petulant child. He said nothing. Just held his hands forward. Looking hard into his eyes, Ygritte slashed the ropes that bound his wrists together. The ropes fell to the snow. 

"Go on then," she said. 

"Come with me," Jon said, suddenly feeling desperate, unmoored.

"To the wall? To live with your Crows, and be your gentle little lady?" Ygritte scoffed. "You couldn't stand to see that done to a woman like me. It would destroy us both."

"It wouldn't be that way," Jon said. "You’d be free of course, just on the other side of the Wall. I'd let you--I'd let you be you."

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. You’re free here. The Crows will only tame you again. You want to warn them of the Others, then warn them. And come back. Your loyalty is to me now, remember?”

“I never said that, Ygritte,” Jon said, though it pained him. “You did.”

Her face hardened.

“I took a vow—“

“This ain’t about no vows, Jon Snow. You say you’re a man of honor, but look how often you change your loyalty. No. This is about you being ashamed of what you want. A man like that is craven to me."

Jon's face twisted with grief. "Ygritte--" he began. But she had already turned. Without a glance back at him, across the vast snowy canyon, Ygritte walked away.

On his third day away from Ygritte, Jon was taken by the Thenns. 

He thought perhaps it was by chance that they found him. He hadn't been risking fires, even at night. Traveling alone there was no one to keep watch while he slept. He set out after waking, no food that morning, into a narrow canyon and that's where they had taken him. Jon had heard them coming and had drawn Longclaw, killed the first, and the second, was fighting off the third, but then there were too many, men and a spearwife on him from all sides, seven or eight in total, and together they got the better of him, wrestled him down into the snow.

"Well, look at this. Crow steel," one of them jeered, picking up Longclaw. "This'll fetch a good price in Hardhome."

Jon's face was pressed painfully into the snow as one of them tied his hands behind his back. He jerked and fought until a kick in the ribs knocked the air out of him, and subdued him.

"What'll we do with him first," said another Thenn, with thick bands of scarring in neat rings around his face. "Rape him or cook him?"

"We can't rape 'em once he's cooked, you idiot," said a fatter Thenn. He landed his boot into Jon's back and pushed, digging his weight in. Jon grunted involuntarily. He wondered if telling them who he really was would make them kill him more quickly, or less.

  
"We'd better have him in a hurry, then," said a tall, skinny Thenn. "I'm starving. Haven't had a proper meal in days."

"None of us has. Go on, have at him then. Boys aren't my liking."

"What's the difference? An arse is an arse. And this one's pretty enough." Jon felt hands then, rummaging up beneath his cloaks and fumbling for his breeches. He thrashed wildly, though he knew there were too many, that he would eventually be overcome anyway. The hands found his breeches and were tugging them down when the spearwife said, "Hold on, you idiots. Look at his face. Look at that sword. This isn't just any Crow. This is the one had Mance Rayder fooled he were coming over to the Free Folk. This is the one that betrayed him."

The hands at his breeches stilled. Jon craned his head to look up at the spearwife, panting. The Thenn with the most elaborate scarring around his head planted a boot into Jon’s back, grabbed a fist of Jon's hair and yanked his head off the ground, wrenching his neck and back painfully. Jon grimaced, he couldn’t help it. It felt like his back would snap.

"Is this true, Crow? Speak the truth, or Marra will know you're lying. She always knows. Special power of hers."

"And when men lie to me, I kill them,” Marra said. She had brown hair that looked dirty and unwashed, a round face with a piggy nose, large brown eyes. “Just ask my three dead brothers.”

It was as likely to be true as not; Jon decided not to take the risk. "Aye. It's true." He looked into the Thenn's eyes, grunting against the pain of the hold, for a long moment before the Thenn slammed his face back down into the ground.

"We'll take him to Mance, then."

"Mance won't pay for a crow."

"He'll pay for the one that betrayed him."

They wrested Jon up from the ground, and the Scar Face grabbed Jon's cheeks in one hand, squeezing hard. "One wrong move and we'll start cutting off parts of you to fill our bellies, you understand that, Crow? We'll start with your nice fleshy arse, but after that we'll be moving on to parts you'll miss--legs and arms, your nice thick thighs. We’ll leave your pretty lips. It’s incredible how long those can go on working. We don't need all of you to take to Mance, just your head in the end. You understand?"

Jon nodded and the Thenn released his face with a jerk. "Here's for good measure," he said, and then backhanded Jon across the face so hard Jon's ears rung. 

The Thenn's were not gentle. But they didn’t rape Jon. For days, he walked behind Scar Face, his hands tied together behind him, his legs bound by a long piece of rope to hobble him, and a lead from his waist tied to Scar Face's. The spear wife, Marra, sent him lascivious looks from morning 'til night, which Jon did his best to ignore. For three days they fed him nothing, and on the afternoon of the fourth he dropped to his knees into the snow, weak with hunger.

"I told you we had to feed him," the fat Thenn said, giving him a kick. Light-headed and swaying, Jon pushed himself back to his feet, knowing that if he couldn’t walk they would either drag him or kill him. But when he fell again a short time later they finally, resentfully, gave him a small portion of dried fish skin and a handful of pine nuts, shoving them crudely into his face, unwilling to unbind his arms even to let him eat. Jon swallowed them quickly, in just two gulps. Marra came to him and said, "Don't worry boy, let mother nurse you." She pressed her waterskin to his lips and Jon sputtered, his stomach turning, thinking she was giving him her breast milk. But then she laughed and said, "It isn't poison, only fermented goat’s milk.” The taste was sour and foul, but Jon was was badly in need of nutrients and hydration, and he drank until she pulled it away. Then she leaned her face down to where he knelt in the snow and pressed her lips to his. Jon made a moaning sound of protest and tried to pull away, but Marra gripped the back of his head and pulled him closer, thrusting in her tongue. Jon heard the other Thenns chuckling. He squirmed and tried to push her off, but it was too difficult, bound as he was. Finally she released him and laughed at Jon’s disgusted look. "Nothing's free boy," she said, holding up the aleskin, grinning at his glare. "You want more?"

"No," he said forcefully. She shrugged.

"Must not like the taste of women, then."

"That's not what his kissed-by-fire lover said," grunted one of the Thenns—Bryen, Jon thought he was called. He was stocky and short and his head was not shaved, but bald and shiny.

Marra balked and then looked at Jon, angrily. He braced for a punch or a smack. "Aww look, yeh hurt her feelings," Bryen laughed. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll still bed yeh. I don’t mind your stumpy little nose.”

Marra rounded and punched Bryen instead.

Jon knew they were taking him to to his death. He watched for a chance to escape, but they had his sword, and at night he was always watched. Even if a guard were to fall asleep, giving him a chance to escape, it was useless. They laid him on his stomach each night and tied his wrists to his ankles, painfully, so that he couldn't move. He could only lay on his side, bent like a bow, shivering and watching. After kissing him, Marra took to kicking him instead, or sometimes both. Jon supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t rape, but it was still unpleasant. One night she came to thrust her tongue into his mouth, kissing him long and hard, and then pulled back and kicked him hard in the gut, knocking his wind out of him, making him wheeze. After he caught his air again, he found himself letting out a long, low chuckle. The treatment was so close to what Ygritte gave him, and yet could not have been further away. 

He should have stayed with Ygritte.

He wondered if Mance Rayder would kill him right away, or let it be slow. He didn't know how common torture was among the Wildlings, didn't know if they might string him up for some sort of entertainment first, or if it would be fast. A sword to the back of the neck would be the most merciful, followed by a hanging. Followed by the pyre. The thought sent prickles of dread up Jon's back. 

He hoped it wouldn’t be fire.

At night, despite the cold and the pain, he dreamed of Ygritte.

He woke to a sharp slap across the face. "Mmmm," he groaned, tasting blood, too surprised from the rude awakening to hold his silence as he normally did, not wanting to give them the pleasure of seeing his pain."Today's the day," Marra said. Jon blinked, realizing it was still dark. She had woken him in the middle of the night. "We'll reach Mance Rayder by afternoon. You do know he's going to execute you?" she whispered.

"I know," Jon answered back, keeping his voice low. 

"Are you not afraid to die?" she asked. Jon made no reply.

"You're brave, at least. And beautiful. Even if you are a traitor. Come with me. Let me be your wife. Let me fuck you whenever I want, and I'll get you away from here. I won't let them take you to Mance."

Sounded less like a husband than a slave, Jon thought. Still, he knew he ought to agree. Take the chance to get away from here, out of the grip of eight Thenns. Tt would be easier to get away from just the one. 

"You'll take me away?" he whispered. 

"Aye. But you have to swear to be mine. Swear yourself to me."

"You'd take the word of a traitor?"

"If you betray me, I'd take your tongue."

Jon sighed. He couldn’t swear an oath he had no intention of keeping.

"I can't," he said. "I can't swear an oath. I’m sworn to the Night’s Watch. I vowed to take no wife.” _And I'm in love with another_ , he thought.

Marra looked torn between kicking him and kissing him again. She sat back and removed a knife from the sheath at her back. Leaning toward him, she angled the knife at his left eye, and opened her mouth as if to speak.

Jon never knew what she was about to say. An arrow took her through the back of her throat, spraying blood across Jon's face. She slumped forward on to him. Dead.

Jon tried to stifle the little cry of surprise even as it issued from his throat. It was too late, anyway. One of the Thenns began to shout, raising the alarm. Jon struggled to wiggle out from underneath the dead weight of Marra, casting about desperately, arms and legs strung behind his back.

"Attack!" someone shouted, and there was the clatter of spears being picked up from rock, and a roar from a voice that sounded familiar to Jon, but that he couldn’t place. Then the full sound of battle, wild cries and clangs of steel, took up around him.

Inching away like a worm, Jon finally managed to free himself from the dead weight of Marra. There in the firelight was Tormund Giantsbane, wielding two short axes, fighting off three Thenns. "Get the crow!" one of the Thenns yelled, a moment before Tormund's axe split his face. Jon tried to bring himself to his knees, but it was useless—he was like a beetle stuck on it’s back. There was nothing he could do but lie there paralyzed on his side and watch Tormund fight the Thenns. Then there was a noise behind him, and the feeling of cold steel pressed into his neck until he began to bleed in a small trickle. “You’re not going anywhere, Crow,” Bryen hissed into his ear. “I’m going to wait until she sees you. Then she’ll watch me slit your throat.”

She? Jon thought. And then he spotted her, as she loosed an arrow and dropped a Thenn. Ygritte, her hair shining in the firelight. Jon wanted to scream for her to get away, get out of here. She shouldn’t be risking herself for him.

Two things happened at once. A Thenn rushed Ygritte from behind, a long knife raised to attack. "Ygritte!" Jon roared. Before he could tell her to watch out, Ygritte loosed her arrow. It took the Thenn behind him right through the eye. Then she spun, drawing an arrow, but there wasn’t time to nock it. The rushing Thenn was upon her. Jon watched helplessly as Ygritte raised the arrow in her fist and stabbed it into his jugular at the same moment as the Thenn plunged his knife into her side. He slid down the length of her to the ground where he jerked, blood flowing like a river out the side of his neck.

"Ygritte!" Jon shouted. She turned to him, a blazing look on her face, unaware she’d been stabbed. "Tormund," Jon called, and Tormund looked at Ygritte and saw the blood flowing from her side.

"Fuck," he said, and then drove his axe through the neck of the sole remaining Thenn, who was lying on the ground before him, trying to crawl away.

“He’s bleeding,” Ygritte said, looking at Jon.

“It’s not my blood,” said Jon.

Ygritte nodded. "Good. Don't uncut him. I've got a lashing to give him first," Ygritte said, but then she slipped a little as Tormund reached her, taking her weight.

"That'll have to wait a moment, girl," he said, easing her to the ground "You're bleeding fierce."

"So what?" Ygritte said. "No Thenn is going to kill me." But she let Tormund open her furs to inspect the wound. "It's clean," he said, "But deep. Almost as deep as the time that she-bear took a bit o’ my bone for a necklace. Haha!"

Tormund moved quickly, pulling a skin from his belt. "Strongwine,” he said, and handed it to Ygritte, who drank deeply before handing it back. Tormund poured it over her wound, washing it. Ygritte watched the blood and wine flow, but didn't even hiss. Jon thought of her words-- _girls see more blood than boys._ It was true. 

"Better stitch you up now," he said. "While the battle rage is still in yeh. Help you feel it less."

"Go on then," Ygritte said, her eyes flicking over to Jon. Tormund followed her gaze. 

"You can stay as you are awhile, Crow," he said. "Betraying Mance Rayder, only to get yourself captured as you did. By a bunch of fucking Thenns."

"Just see to her," Jon said from his place on the ground. Tormund took a curved needle and a bit of catgut from his belt.

"Better find something to bite on," he said. Ygritte pulled off her own glove and stuck it in her mouth. Jon forced himself to watch. He wouldn't turn away from this, not when Ygritte had taken the injury while rescuing him. Saving his life. Tormund worked quickly. Ygritte panted a little and Jon could see in the firelight a sheen of sweat break out across her forehead, but other than that she made almost no sound as Tormund stitched up her side, the needle pushing into her skin and out of it, over and over again, the cat gut pulling through.

"How big is it?" Jon asked, anxious at the time it was taking. 

"Bastard pushed in and dragged as he died. It's the length of my hand. You lucky he didn't get much deeper, boy, or we would have been burning your woman right now."

Ygritte pulled the glove out of her mouth to bark, "Stop chattering and hurry up! Give me more of that wine." Tormund obliged, handing her his wineskin, and she took a long drink before shoving the glove back in again and throwing her head back as Tormund went in again with the needle.

When he was finished, at last, Ygritte tried to stand, but Tormund pushed her back down. "Where in seven hells do you think you're going? That wound’s going to open right back up if you don't give it time to heal a few days before walking. And I'm not going through that again," he says. “You were calmer now in front o’ your lover. Last time I gave you sutures, you split my lip.”

“Idiot,” Ygritte spat. “What if there’s more Thenns?”

"Are there, boy?" Tormund asked Jon.

"No. I don't think so. Though we’re close to Mance, there could be scouts."

“Close to Mance? What nonsense now is this?”

“I—it’s what they told me,” Jon said. “They were going to take me to Mance. Thought he’d pay them for me. And then kill me.”

Tormund looked to Ygritte, then back at Jon. “That may have been what those bleeding idiots thought they were doing, but they weren’t.” He drew a knife and walked toward Jon. Was he going to kill him now? After rescuing him? Jon didn’t think it likely, but the Wildling was unpredictable—and if he wanted Jon dead, nothing could stop him now.

"I told you to leave him," Ygritte said.

"Aye, he is a pretty one, all trussed up," Tormund said, looking at Jon with a glint in his eye that made Jon squirm. "But he has to be able to run."

"Fine then," Ygritte said. "But you deserve to be left tied, Jon Snow."

“Aye, you do, Tormund said. “Would a got yourself killed had we not shown up.”

“We’re neither of us very happy with you,” Ygritte said. 

“Not should you be,” Jon muttered. Tormund sliced his knife through the ropes, undoing the one at Jon's back first, so that his legs and his wrists were able to stretch away from one another, and Jon sighed with the relief. He sat up and Tormund unbound his wrists, then, finally, his ankles. Jon rubbed at his wrists, where the ropes had chafed him raw. He wanted to go to Ygritte, but her eyes were angry, and Jon didn't think he'd be welcome. Nor did he think that Tormund's presence would stop her doing whatever she decided she wanted to do with him. "Ygritte, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry was never worth much at all," Ygritte said.

Tormund raised his eyebrows at Jon, a look that was suspiciously like commiseration.“She ain’t an easy mistress,” he said. “Poor Crow. Your arse is going to be striped red as the inside of a man soon, boy.”

Jon could not believe what he was hearing. His mouth opened but no words came out. Blushing furiously, he looked to Ygritte. She had told Tormund? About their private affairs? Before he could say anything, Tormund’s voice boomed on like nothing had happened. 

"We'll rest here today," he said. The sun was not far from rising, the blue light of predawn creeping into the dark.

"And then we'll see you back to the Wall," Ygritte said. "Seeing as how you can't make it on your own without losing your head."

“What are you even doing here?” Jon said. “I betrayed you. I left you. I didn’t deserve to be rescued.”

“Mance has been taken,” Tormund said. “Captured by your Crows.”

Could it be true? Jon looked to Ygritte. She nodded. “Aye. Taken in battle.”

“They’ll be holding him, then. At Castle Black,” Jon said. “And they’re like to kill him as not.”

“That’s why we came for you, boy,” Tormund said. “You’re going back to the Crows to see that they don’t.”

Jon’s heart sank. “I don’t have that kind of power there,” he said.

“I know you’re good in a fight,” Tormund said. “I’ve seen you. You’re brave and true. I think you must be good with your tongue as well. Men listen to you.”

“I don’t think it was Mance you meant to betray, so much as those boys you didn’t want to kill,” Ygritte said. “You saw he’s a good man, Mance.”

“Aye, he is,” Jon said. “But Ygritte, I’m sworn to the watch.”

“Fine,” she said. “Then they’ll take you back. And you’ll tell ‘em about Mance, and about your Others. You’ll make them listen, Jon Snow.”

“They won’t listen—“

“You’ll make them,” Ygritte said.

“Or I’ll kill you,” finished Tormund.

That evening, however, fever set in. Ygritte shivered and sweat at the same time. Neither Tormund nor Jon knew much of healing, but Ygritte had a small vial of honey in her belt and Jon mixed it with fir needles to make a poultice. Before he packed it on, Tormund put a strip of leather in Ygritte's mouth and then cut open the skin along the edge of the infected area with a knife he first held over the flames. Ygritte was weak and only moaned a little. He collected her blood in a small bowl, letting it fill half way before allowing Jon to put the poultice on.

"Nothing we can do now but wait," Tormund said. "When was the last time you ate?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You won't be any good to her starved to death, you bleeding idiot." Tormund went out into the woods, to hunt for sustenance. Jon maneuvered Ygritte's head in his lap and stroked her hair, watching her eyes flutter with dreams. 

"I'm sorry," he said, over and over. "Ygritte, I'm so sorry." She didn't respond. He didn’t know if she could hear.

Tormund returned with two dead hares, and Jon skinned them. He split his into two halves. One half he roasted over the fires with Tormund's hare, the second he put into a pot he found on one of the Thenns, along with some snow, and boiled it over the fire for a long time, letting the meat fall off the bones, allowing the bones to bubble. At last he gave Ygritte a little shake. Her eyes fluttered open and he spooned the broth into her mouth. Tormund observed from across the fire. Jon got a few spoonfuls down before sleep took her. 

"Tormund," Jon said. "I don't want to see Mance die anymore than you. But I don't know what I can do. I don't have any power, at Castle Black. I'm only a steward."

Tormund looked at him blankly.

"A--a helper. To the Lord Commander. I write his letters, boil his supper, bring him wine."

"A slave?"

"No, not a slave," Jon said irritably.

"Sounds like a slave. All right, all right," Tormund said, holding his palms up, when Jon turned an angry gaze on him. "But why would you want to go back to that?"

"I told you. I swore an oath."

"And you swore to Mance that you were free."

"He asked me to kill two boys," Jon said.

"Doesn't the watch ask you to kill wildlings? Do they care whether they're men or boys that you kill?"

Jon had no answer for this. "I'll do what I can to help Mance," he said, eventually. "But you should have another plan."

Jon took the first watch that night. He laid down beside Ygritte, holding her, found himself rocking her as if she were a child. He knew she wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t help himself.

The next day, Jon and Tormund fashioned a travois. Both knew it was better not to move Ygritte, but it was too dangerous to stay where they were. They stripped the Thenns for food, weapons, supplies, anything that might be useful, and then took turns pulling Ygritte across the snow.

"She'll come through," Jon said to Tormund. "She's strong."

"She might," Tormund allowed. "I've seen women wounded worse and live. I've seen women wounded better and die. Why'd you go and leave her anyway, little Crow? It's clear you love her."

"I was stupid," Jon replied.

“Didn’t think you were one to run from a bit of pain,” Tormund said, raising his bushy eyebrows at him.

Jon flushed “It wasn’t—that,” he said, but he heard the half truth in the statement as he spoke it. “It wasn’t only that, anyway.”

Tormund snorted. "You wanted to be free. Kneelers don't know what to do with freedom. Look what you did with yours. Got captured by a bunch o' bleeding Thenns."

That night Ygritte was worse. She shivered violently, so hard her teeth chattered. Jon didn't know what to do. She was hot and cold at once. For the first time, Tormund was silent. He sat across the fire and watched Jon attempt to help Ygritte with solemn eyes. "It's not right, that a Crow like you should be the death of a woman like her," he said finally, his voice unusually quiet.

"I know," Jon said, anguished, wiping at Ygritte's brow. He dribbled water down her throat. Ygritte moaned and Jon pulled her up, pressing her hair against her cheek, whispered in her ear. Begged her to live. 

"I"ll take the first watch," Tormund said. Jon didn't want to close his eyes, even for a moment. He was afraid that if he took his eyes off Ygritte, something might happen. 

"You sleep," he said. "I don't want to leave her."

Jon stayed up with her late into the night, dribbling broth down her throat as often as he could. Rocking her, brushing her hair, talking to her. Apologizing, over and over. Ygritte’s eyelids fluttered. Once, her eyes opened, and Jon grew hopeful, but they didn’t focus on him. Wherever she was, it was far away.

Tormund woke a few hours before dawn. "Let me see to her now," he said. 

Jon tried to protest, but exhaustion won out. At last, sleep took him.

Jon woke with his arms empty. He sat up with a start. "Ygritte!" he cried, casting about wildly for her. Had she died? Had Tormund taken her from him before he could say goodbye?

He heard a low chuckle behind him and rolled over. Tormund and Ygritte were on the other side of the low fire. Ygritte was sitting up. She was pale but her eyes were clear. "What's that now, Snow? Did you think I had died?" she said.

Jon was too flooded with relief to do anything but smile. 


	4. As My Lady Commands

They set out again that afternoon. Ygritte refused to let Jon pull her in the travois. She did let him carry her pack, when Tormund threatened to tie her and throw her over his shoulder if that’s what it took to prevent her opening her sutures. As Jon slung her pack over his shoulder, it occurred to him that her dragon glass cock was probably within it. He turned away from Ygritte and Tormund, trying to hide the way he flushed just at the memory of it.

Together the three of them set out for the wall. It was all Jon could do at nearly every moment not to turn to Ygritte, grab her up into his arms, and kiss her. Or kneel before her to beg forgiveness and then kiss her between her legs. But her manner warned him to hold himself back.Ygritte was neutral with Jon. She certainly wasn’t tender--didn't come to him at night, didn’t try to crawl beneath his bedskin or surprise him by straddling him as she had sometimes done-- but she wasn’t harsh or biting either, which worried Jon the most. She should have be furious. The Ygritte of just a week ago would have given him a bollocking up one side and down the other. Instead she was distant. Occasionally she’d make a cutting remark and Tormund would look at Jon and shake his head, as if feeling sorry for him. Jon did his best to ignore it.

A week passed, and all of it was torture for Jon. Being reunited with Ygritte, only to have her wall him out, was more than he could bear. And all the while, the guilt ate at him. The knowledge that he had nearly lost her.

He waited until one evening when it was Tormund’s turn to go hunt up something to eat. Ygritte had stoked up the fire and was sitting by it, unbraiding her hair, combing her fingers through it to rebraid it again. Jon drew in a long breath, and then approached her. When he was three steps from her he halted, folded his hands behind his back, and dropped down to his knees on the snow. Then he bowed his head, tucking his gaze down. He waited. 

Ygritte didn’t acknowledge him right away. She braided her hair. Jon instinctively kept his silence, waiting. And waiting. When he was beginning to wonder what he might do if Tormund were to return and find him like this, Ygritte spoke at last. 

“Is there something you’d like to say, Jon Snow?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, an immediate tightening in his groin from the simple speaking of these words. He had been addressing high-born women as such all his life, but the fact that he only used it with Ygritte when he was being punished made it something more. “I’m so sorry. It was stupid of me to leave you, and it nearly got you killed.”

“Aye, it did. But here I am and there you are. Both of us breathing.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Jon finally said what had been weighing on him for days. “I want you to whip me, my lady. Please. For what I’ve done. I deserve a whipping.”

He dared to lift his eyes to watch her face, hoping for her wanton grin, but it was only the barest hint of a smile, and a sad one, that tugged on one corner of Ygritte’s mouth. 

“I told you it would come to this. Didn’t I?” 

He remembers her words. _Aye, but only because you’re going to ask me_. 

“Yes. I should have listened.”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. One day you want me to take you in hand, the next you’re running into the wilderness and nearly getting yourself raped and killed by a bunch o’ Thenns. Which is it?”

“It's true that I needed to get back to the Wall,” Jon said. It was a difficult thing to tell her, but he owed her the truth. “No matter how I feel about you, I can’t turn my back on that duty. But I also should have listened to you,” he repeated. “I’m asking you to punish me for it, Ygritte. Please. I want things to be right between us. Like they were.”

She regarded him with a steady gaze. “Aye. You’ll be punished. But only once you swear to obey me.”

He frowned. “Ygritte, please understand. I can’t. I have a previous vow—“

“I won’t ask you to betray your bleeding vow. More than you already have. But I need to know that you’re finished with this dithering about on what you need. On what you are. I need to know if you’re in my hands or not. If you’re mine or not.”

Jon felt his face flush, heat creeping up his neck. His cock stirring now, stiffening. Seven hells. He did like it. The reaction of his body made that obvious. What sort of a man was he if he couldn’t even tell the truth to himself?

“I swear it,” he said.

“Swear what?”

“To obey you, my lady. I'm yours.”

The smile it brought to Ygritte’s face was worth all the humiliation of the kneeling, and the beatings.

“All right then, Jon Snow. You’ll have your whipping.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jon sighed, relief flooding over him.

“But not from me.”

Jon’s eyes snapped up to hers. “What?”

He saw then that she was grinning now, and that grin contained a strong degree of wickedness. “Would you have me tear these sutures open? They’re still fresh enough. And on my whipping side.”

Jon flushed, embarrassed to have been so heedless. “I’m sorry, of course. I should have thought—I’ll do whatever you say, until you’re healed. I’ll take my whipping then.”

“No, my little Crow,” came a rough, warm voice from behind him. “You’ll take it now.”

Jon leapt to his feet and spun around, his heart pounding. “Tormund?” He said. How long had the man been there? Hot with humiliation, Jon turned back to Ygritte. “You let him hear me? Like that?”

“Come now,” Tormund said, clapping a hand to Jon’s back. “You kneelers and your fussy ways. There’s no shame in being loved rough by a woman. No shame in being loved rough by a man, either,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. 

“No,” Jon said, stepping away. 

“He’s been too long without a beating,” Ygritte said to Tormund. “He gets all pouty like this if you let him go too long.”

“We’ll remedy that,” Tormund said. 

“No you won’t. Ygritte,” Jon said. “I didn’t—this wasn’t what I agreed to.”

“I thought you agreed to obey your lady,” Tormund said. 

So he’d heard—what? All of it? “Yes but—not this. Not like this.”

“Come right over here and go to your knees before me, boy,” Ygritte said. Sending a glare at Tormund, glowering all the way, Jon obeyed. He had sworn to. Tormund being there didn’t change that. He went over to Ygritte’s far side—putting himself as far as possible from Tormund—and went back to his knees.

“Good. Now. You asked me to whip you for putting me in danger. But I can’t, because of the danger you put me in. You put Tormund in danger too, didn’t yeh?”

“I did,” Jon said through clenched teeth. He was angry now, and showing it. 

“So I’m telling you to submit to him. What did I say about obedience?”

Jon breathed heavily with anger, his chest rising and falling, but he forced himself to answer. “That it doesn’t mean anything if you only do it when it’s easy.” He remembered it, because it sounded much like something his father would have said.

“That’s right. Tormund’s going to give you your whipping now, Jon Snow. And then I’d like to see you yield to him.”

“What?” Jon cried, and jumped to his feet again. 

“Let him yield first,” Tormund said. “So that he can see how pleasing I can be, before how painful.”

“I’ll let him choose,” Ygritte said thoughtfully. “What will it be? You want your fucking first, or your whipping?” 

“No,” Jon spat. “Neither!”

“You’re defying me, Snow. You remember what you get for defiance?”

“Ygritte,” Jon said, pleading, desperate. He felt wild and hot with humiliation—from the orders Ygritte was giving him, yes, but also from his reaction to them. He was acting like a child, he knew. He had just stood before her—before them both—and asked for this. And now he was fighting it, again. As she’d just chastised him for doing. 

“There you are again. What do you get for defiance? Don’t make it three.”

Jon shut his eyes and swallowed hard. He had sworn to obey. His word was all he had, he wouldn't betray it. “I get a whipping on my—“

He couldn’t finish. 

“Cock?” Tormund supplied. “Not the stones,” he said, somewhat aghast, looking at Ygritte. 

“Jon Snow’s going to tell you, or it will be.”

She meant it, he could tell, and the fear of Tormund watching Ygritte switch him right on his bollocks was the only thing that forced him to say “A whipping on my hole.”

“Your arsehole?” Tormund chuckled. “Oh, little Crow. You’ve got it bad for this one. So now I’ve got that and a beating to give you. You ought to let me fuck you first, boy. You’ll sensitive there after the whipping.”

“For fucks sake,” Jon said. It was ridiculous. He was a Brother of the Night's Watch and he didn’t have to stand for this. 

"Is he going to submit like a good lad?" Tormund asked Ygritte.

"Seems unlikely," she said, and then gave a little jerk of her chin.

"What's going on--" Jon said. Tormund was coming toward him, arms spread wide like a bear, a look on his face like he was trying to placate a drunk, or a child.

"What--" Jon skittered backwards and made a stupid, instinctive grab for Longclaw, but Tormund was already upon him. Quickly releasing the hilt, Jon swung a fist at him instead. He managed to strike Tormund’s jaw but the blow was a weak one, seeing as how the larger man was so close. Tormund wrapped his arms around Jon, pinning his arms to his sides, and easily, wrestled him to the ground, flipping him onto his stomach and pressing him into the earth.

"Get off me," Jon cried, struggling. He managed to free an arm and thrust his elbow backwards, into Tormund's face

“Oh-ho-ho-ho,” the bearded man chuckled, catching Jon's arm and pinning it to his back. “We’ve got us a wild one, do we? I like them wild.” He sounded terribly fond of Jon, and terribly excited by this, at once. 

"Tormund," Jon said, going still, trying to reason. "You're my friend. And I'm grateful for your help with the Thenns. But this isn't--I didn't agree to this. Ygritte--"

Jon grunted as his breeches were yanked down with a force that raised his hips and then slammed them, naked, back down into the snow, his cock pressing into the cold. He began to kick wildly, bucking, trying to get away. A hand was pushing his tunic and robes up, bunching them against his upper back. Then there was a solid CRACK and his entire body jerked, back arching, as the palm of Tormund's thick, enormous hand came down upon his arse.

"Fuck!" Jon spat. 

"Gladly!” Tormund said.

"No--no no," Jon panted. "I didn't mean--"

CRACK. Jon bucked again with the impact. The force of Tormund's swat was incredible, practically taking the air out of him. Jon bit his lip to keep from crying out. 

"It would be so much nicer if you'd let me fuck you," Tormund said. "I'm a gentle lover. Gentler than her most likely.” Tormund raised his palm and spanked Jon again, Jon's body jerking involuntarily. This time Jon turned his head so that he could see Ygritte where she sat on a rock, watching.

"I told you it would be easier on you if you'd yield with grace," she said. "You said you'd obey, Jon Snow. Obey."

Jon breathed heavily through his nose. At last, he nodded.

"Yes, my lady."

"Ahhh, there's a good lad," Tormund said approvingly. Before Jon could react Tormund flipped him over onto his back, looking him up and down. His brow furrowed. 

"Wouldn't have expected that," he said.

"What?" asked Jon wildly.

"You've got a tiny little pecker. Ygritte, you certain about this one? He must be good with something else, eh? Has to be, with a pecker like that. Got magic fingers maybe? Or a tongue?"

Jon was speechless. He was larger than Theon, of a size with Robb. No one had ever called him tiny before. Tormund looked at him and laughed. "It's all right, my little Crow." The shock of the situation left Jon pliant, and his body went easily as Tormund sat down on a felled log and pulled Jon right across his lap, Jon's arse raised up across Tormund's thighs.

"Here," Ygritte said. "For his hole."

Jon's entire body coiled as if to spring, but he had given his word. He shoved a knuckle into his mouth and bit down, hard, to keep himself from fighting to get up, or from crying out in protest.

"That’s better," Tormund said approvingly, and patted his back. Jon felt gloved hands on his arse, pulling the two globes of it apart, and then, mercifully, before he had much time to anticipate, a switch smacked down across his arsehole. He bucked on Tormund's lap but didn't cry out. 

"Good lad," Tormund said. The switch fell again, hard, lighting up all the nerve endings there. It was intensely painful. He squirmed on Tormund's lap, cursing up a storm in his mind, but managed to remain silent, letting his head drop. 

"There now," Ygritte said. "What was that for?"

"For defying you," Jon said into his arms, his face buried.

The switch bit into the backs of his thighs. "What?"

"My lady," Jon corrected himself, raising his face up out of his arms to be heard clearly. "For defying you, my lady."

Tormund chuckled again. "If only you knew how beautiful it is to watch you like this, clinging to your pride when I've got you arse up over my knee and your little pucker close to bleeding," he said. "Now, you asked for a thrashing, and you're going to get one. That’s how it goes.”

With that, Tormund let into Jon's arse with his bare palm. Jon's body jerked, and jerked, and jerked, with the blows. It was clear from the start that this thrashing from Tormund was going to be different from the ones from Ygritte. Jon buried his face in his arms again, conscious of how he was already grimacing in pain, not wanting them to see. Tormund was a massive man, with massive arms, and Jon felt every ounce of that strength as he thrashed Jon's arse, again and again, powerfully and with a speed that had Jon panting and sputtering in no time, unable to catch his breath.

Jon bit his lip and strained beneath the beating, his every muscle rigid, trying to keep from crying out. He didn't mind Ygritte seeing him cry, not too much anyway, but the thought of Tormund seeing his tears was unthinkable. He shoved his knuckle back into his mouth and bit again, on the verge of crying out and desperate not to.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Ygritte.

"Wha—“ SMACK! “-what, my lady?"

"Get your hand out of your mouth, Jon Snow. You trying to keep from crying, is that it?"

"Oh, my poor lad," Tormund said fondly, and let loose with a series of swats that were so powerful they had Jon's toes curling in his boots, his muscles going so rigid he became like a washboard on Tormund's lap. "That's part of the punishment."

"What?" Jon said. "No. You can't--" SMACK "--make me--" SMACK "--cry--mmmmmmm!" He moaned at last. He had never thought a hand could be more painful than a belt, but this was worse than anything Ygritte had given him so far. The smacks came hard, and fast, each one lighting his arse on fire. He started to tremble all over, his body telling him to get up and fight. Tormund chuckled.

"Oh I can't, can I? Should I take off my belt, and we'll see how strong and silent you are then?"

Jon didn't answer that. He felt nearly sick with the humiliation. He couldn't believe Ygritte was watching him like this--helpless, panting, writhing on Tormund's lap, allowing the man to thrash him like he was a naughty boy, to thrash him within what felt like inches of his life.

"Ygritte," he said desperately. "I mean, my lady! My lady."

"What is it, love?" Ygritte said.

"I--I--" Jon didn't know what to say. "I can't do this. I have to get up--let me up."

"Was afraid you'd say that," Tormund said. His arm went around Jon's waist and held him there, pinned against his body. Tormund continued walloping him. Suddenly Jon braced his palms against the felled log and pushed up, trying to get away.

"Oh no you don't," Tormund said, hand already on Jon's back, and slammed him back onto the log. Jon was absolutely quivering with pain, and the attempt to hold his cries in.

"Bloody hell, Jon Snow," Ygritte said. "Didn't I tell you it would be better for you to yield?"

"My lady," Jon panted, broken, and then finally let out a half moan, half cry at the force of Tormund's blows. He was bothered between his legs, that was the worst of it. He was in so much pain, and yet his arousal, his need, was growing fiercer by the moment. He was hard, and as he squirmed on Tormund's lap, he was terrified the man could feel it.

"Come now," he heard her say, and then she was at his side--he felt her hands in his hair, gentle, and then she put her palms on his face, even as he jerked and twitched under Tormud’s blows, and turned it towards her. She was sitting on the ground, and Jon saw that her eyes didn't look angry anymore. She had a fierce look to her--she always did--but along with that there was a fondness, and a tenderness, in the way she beheld him. Like he was precious to her. It was the tenderness that undid him, his woman looking so closely into his face while his body bucked as another man beat his bare arse raw. He felt his eyes fill with tears and fought valiantly to hold them back."Why are you so undone? Don't you know how beautiful you are? You now nothing, Jon Snow."

Then she leaned down and kissed him, her tongue in his mouth.

Jon began to cry.

As he did, he felt the tension ease out of his muscles, though Tormund kept beating him. "There now," Tormund said. "That's better, boy." SMACK. "That's a good lad." Ygritte pulled away and Jon looked at her with tear-filled eyes. She smiled at him softly.

"Isn't he lovely?" she said to Tormund.

"Oh aye," Tormund agreed heartily. "Lovelier than seven naked giant wives on a summer's morn."

It couldn’t have been true, Jon thought. He wasn't lovely, he was ridiculous. But somehow, it was good to hear nonetheless.

"Now let's make something clear," Ygritte said. SMACK, went Tormund's palm. SMACK. SMACK. Jon focused on her, even as his body rocked rhythmically from his beating. "Tormund's thrashing you raw because you went running off into the wilderness on your own, too proud to admit what you needed, and thinking you had something to prove. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, my lady," Jon said, feeling calmer now, despite the vigorous thrashing he was still submitting to, Tormund swatting him again, and again, and again.

"I'd rather be thrashing you myself but I took a knife in my side rescuing your pretty arse from rapers and cannibals. And that she-Thenn who was about to fuck yeh.”

"Yes, my lady. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ygritte sighed. "Well. I wanted to give you a proper tongue lashing, but seeing as how you came to me on your knees and asked for this beating, I think you know what you done wrong."

"I do, my lady," Jon said. "Mmmm!" His arse was fire, and Tormund showed no signs of stopping or slowing.

"I think maybe you ought to give me a tongue lashing now, then," she said. 

"He's hard as a blade,” Tormund said matter of factly. Jon flushed anew and turned his head away from Ygritte, hiding it in his arms again.

"Is he?" Ygritte said approvingly. "Oh he's a wonder, this one is."

"Aye. And not trying to rut into me neither, to quell himself. You trained him well. You want me to see to you, boy?" Tormund said. The spanking slowed. Didn't stop, but slowed.

"No," Jon moaned. Then, trying to gain some of his dignity back, he asked, "Are you going to force me to--to yield?"

"No," Tormund said, letting out a sigh. "I like my lovers willing. But you're going to ask me to fuck you, eventually, lad. And you'll be glad you did."

Jon felt this unlikely, but then, Ygritte had been right about him asking for a beating. Also, seeing as how he was bent half naked over the man's lap, Jon didn't think it was a good time to argue with him.

"Are you ready then, Jon Snow?" Ygritte asked.

This was one of the easiest questions he’d ever been asked. Jon looked her in the eye and made his voice strong. "Yes, my lady. I'm ready."

Tormund beat him again, once, twice, three more times, Jon's eyes shutting and reopening with each blow, and then Tormund's hand went to the back of Jon's neck, grabbed his cloak, and pulled him up. Jon's body was relaxed now, and pliant, and Tormund strong--it was easy for the larger man to stand and maneuver Jon onto his knees, breeches bunched around his ankles, before Tormund on the snow. Jon panted, wrecked, trying to gather himself. His entire body felt flush, with pain and arousal and humiliation. It made him half dizzy. He closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath, opened them again. Swayed on his knees, then tried to pull his muscles back into working order. Trying to regain control of himself.

"Don't know what you think you have to be so ashamed about, boy," Tormund said. "Look how pretty you are, your girlish lashes all bunched with your tears, your cheeks flushed as a maid. Your lips plump and pink," he said. 

The words embarrassed Jon, a little, but kneeling here before Tormund, after taking such a thorough thrashing from him, Jon felt something he couldn’t quite name. It was warm, and soft, and it pulled him almost magnetically toward the larger man. 

“Tormund,” Jon said. 

“What is it, lad?” 

Jon’s eyes were unfocused, and he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Then, without meaning to, he swayed forward again and, unable or unwilling to fully stop himself, pressed his forehead into Tormund’s thighs, rested it there.

“Ohhhh,” Tormund purred gently. His hand —the one that had just thrashed him—cupped the back of Jon’s head gently. Then he moved it around to Jon’s chin, catching Jon there and tipping his face up toward him. 

“I know, lad. I know. You did well. You come to me anytime you want that. You know I’ll gladly give it. But ask your lady first!”

“I won’t . . .” Jon started to say. Why would he ever want that? But he did feel better than he had in awhile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Tormund smiled at him approvingly. And Jon could almost—not quite but almost—imagine how it might be alright, to take care of Tormund, after a Tormund had just taken such care of him. 

Then he pushed the thought from his mind.

Ygritte let her eyes roam slowly over him, taking in his hard cock, jutting out from the black curls between his thighs. "Are you sure you don't want Tormund to see to you, Jon Snow? Because I won't be. Not tonight. Maybe not for some nights. We'll see what should please me."

Jon drew in a long breath, shuddery from the thrashing, and the crying. "I'm sure, my lady."

Ygritte looked disappointed, and Tormund let out a sigh. "All right then," she said. She stood before him, bracing herself against his shoulder as she did, a little unsteady from her injury. He supported her weight easily, let out a soft little grunt of want as she began to undo her breeches.

"Well, fuck me. Guess I'll be seeing to myself in the woods, then. Unless there's a giant or a she-bear waiting for me. OH GIANTESS," he roared, heading off into the woods. "OH SHE BEARS! YOUR MAN AWAITS YE!"

Jon couldn't help but smile and huff out a little laugh. Then Ygritte was standing before him, her breeches down, and her hand was in the curls on the back of his head, guiding him toward her. He needed no further encouragement.

“It’s true, what Tormund said,” Ygritte said, looking down at him. “You’re blushing and teary and beautiful in it, Jon Snow.”

Jon parted his lips, but not to answer. He put his entire mouth on her, the way he did, opening wide and taking her all in, and she gasped. He was starving for her. Had dreamed of her, her scent, her taste, for so many nights. Ygritte mewed above him and Jon thought it was the best sound in the world. Then, suddenly, he pulled back off—Ygritte let out a little gasp of protest, said, “One of these days I’m going to snack you for that!”--and looked up at her. Carefully he placed his hands on her hips. “Will I hurt you?” he asked.

Ygritte smiled wickedly. “You do, I’ll blacken your eye. It’s right here,” she said, and moved his hand to show him where her wound was. 

“Don’t you want to lie down?” he asked. 

“The day you start treating me like one of your swooning Southron ladies is the day you learn how I punish boys who are truly wicked, not just naughty and pouty like you,” she said.

Jon smiled and then wrapped his arms around her, roughly drawing her closer to him. “Come here then,” he said, and he lifted her up. Ygritte slung her legs over his shoulders and he held her there, straddling his face, all her weight upon him. She let out a gasp of desire that made Jon feel strong, and proud. He could hold her like this. Her weight was nearly nothing to him.

He pressed his arms into her arse and held her close to him and put his mouth back on her, It put him at an angle for using the flat of his tongue, his nose, and he did, devouring her, greedy. Ygritte dug her fingers into his hair and rode him, gasping.

When her breathing slowed, Jon gently placed her back down on the ground. He pulled her breeches up to her hips and tied them again for her. Ygritte caressed his hair, smiling down at him as he worked. When her breeches were fastened, he met her gaze and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and cheeks, wiping her off of him. She bent down and took his mouth in her lips, tasting herself on him. Then she pulled back and looked pointedly down at his swollen, jutting cock.

“I told you I wasn’t going to see to that and I wasn’t lying. You’re in for an uncomfortable few days, I think. Tuck it away, Jon Snow.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, his brow furrowing a little. This obedience was exquisite, overwhelming him, lighting him up with sparks in his entire body. He hoisted his breeches back up around his hips, tucking his cock down inside of them. “You do know that when you say that to me, it only makes me harder?”

“Aye, I do know,” Ygritte smiled. “That’s because you love when I take charge o’ yeh. Don’t you?” She pulled Jon to his feet. He took her around the waist by both arms and gazed down at her. 

“Aye,” he said quietly. “I do.” 

Ygritte grinned “And don’t you dare go seeing to it yourself, neither. You hear me? You aren’t to touch yourself without my permission. From now on.”

Jon’s gazed at her fondly. “As my lady commands,” he said. 

“Oh, I like that one. How come you never said that to me before?” 

“You never commanded me to, before,” he teased.

Ygritte hit at his chest with her fist. “Well I am now.”

“As my lady commands,” he said, and kissed her. Ygritte allowed it for a moment, before pulling away.

“Careful, boy. You’ll only get yourself more bothered. Oh and Snow? Don’t worry about your pecker. The only one he’s seen apart from his own have belonged to giants.”

Jon frowned heavily at this, at both the idea that that could be true, and the memory of Tormund’s words about his cock. Ygritte laughed at his glower. “Come one,” she said. “We’ll eat something, before it gets dark. You can sleep by me tonight. Though I’d best put my arms around your back, this time, so you don’t rub yourself to disobedience against me in the night.”

Jon kissed her again. “I gave you my word, didn’t I? You can trust that.”

Ygritte looked at him a long moment. “Aye,” she said. “I suppose I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this work and want to read more, please leave me a comment and let me know! I have more of it written but it takes a lot of work to edit it and prepare it for posting here, and I have other stories I’m working on at the same time. If people are just “meh” on this one, I can move on. Thank you!!!


	5. Dragon Glass

A low chuckle. The sounds of rustling leather and furs, then, unmistakeably, a stream of piss hitting the snow. “What’re your orders?” Tormund asked. 

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, turning his face toward where Tormund stood, with his cock out, pissing into the snow and looking at Jon with a mixture of amusement and fondness. Jon, for his part, was bent arse-up over a log, his hands behind his back, his arse naked as the day. His breeches were bunched around his ankles and his cloak and tunics pushed up, so that his arse was fully exposed. His bare skin prickled with cold. He hadn’t been there long, but he had been hoping Tormund wouldn’t find him. 

“To wait for her like this,” he said. Tormund raised one bushy eyebrow. Jon sighed and said, “And to obey you, if you ask.”

“Heh. Thought there might be more.” Tormund said, tucking himself back in. He smacked Jon playfully on the rump. Jon took the indignity silently. Then, after a pause, he added:

“But not to yield. Those aren’t my orders.” 

“Don’t worry. I told you, you’re going to ask me.”

“Tormund,” Jon said. “You’re my friend. And I value that friendship. But I’m not going to ask you to—do that with me. I don’t like lying with men.”

“You’ve tried it, then, have yeh?”

“No,” Jon admitted. 

“Never having fucked a man before and not liking it are two different things. How long has she had you here?” 

“Since daybreak.” 

“Not too long then. So, what would you do if I asked you to go down to your knees for me? Something simple, to start.”

“Are you asking me?”

“I’m telling you,” Tormund said, bemused.

Jon shut his eyes again, took a long breath, and then slid silently down to his knees. 

“Very good, little Crow. Very good. How long as she left that unattended to? Since I thrashed you?”

He was looking at Jon’s cock, which was hard— _and not tiny_ , Jon thought. He blushed. “I’m a brother of the Night’s Watch. I can survive as long as I need to without—without—“

“Riding the avalanche? Spilling your goat’s milk? Shooting your poison? You’re such a dear little thing, Crow. You can’t even bring yourself to say it,” he laughed. “And anyway, the Night’s Watch ever tell you you can’t make do with your own hand, like your lady requires?”

Jon pursed his lips together. “Are you ordering me to answer that?”

“No. But I am ordering you to put your face in the snow.”

“My face in the—?”

Already Tormund was moving to his backside. Jon opened his mouth to say something, but he knew he couldn’t stop it, anyway. SMACK. Tormund swatted him hard on his bare arse. Muttering a curse, Jon turned to his side, away from the log, and then bent forward, so that his cheek was pressed to the cold ground, and his arse raised absurdly up in the air.

“That’s better. You’re lucky I don’t give you the same thing for defiance as she does.”

“Is Jon Snow defying you?” came Ygritte’s voice. “He gets the same punishment for it, no matter who he defies.”

“No, no. Just testing. He’s arranged himself as I asked.” Jon was aware that Tormund was covering for him. Hadn’t Jon just defied him, after all? He looked up, craning his neck, and managed to meet Tormund’s eye. Tormund winked. Then he looked toward where Ygritte must have been standing, and there was a silence as the two of them exchanged looks—what those looks said, Jon did not know, but he knew they made his belly flutter.

Then Ygritte said, “I’m going to give you a choice this morning, loveling. Seeing as how you’re being so good with Tormund here and all. Would you rather take a switching, or my glass cock? I won’t be allowing you to spend afterwards, so choose wisely with that in mind.”

Jon’s hips squirmed in a little circle of lustful anticipation.

“A switching, please, my lady.”

Tormund made a sound of surprise. “What? You’re telling me he actually likes a cock in the bum? Then why won’t he let me fuck him?”

“He don’t like it,” Ygritte answered. “It just makes him hard. “

“What kind of man doesn’t like anything that makes him hard?”

“Jon Snow’s a more complicated man than you,” Ygritte said. “All right then, lover. Go cut yourself a switch and bring it to me.”

“As my lady commands,” Jon said, and stood, pulled up his breeches, and, after a glance at them both that was a far too alluring combination of bashful and grumpy and secretly pleased, went to do as he was told. When he returned with the switch, Tormund was sitting by the fire, warming his hands. Jon was beginning to understand how this worked; he no longer had any illusions that Ygritte would send Tormund away before switching him. And as Tormund had recently thrashed Jon himself, after all, it didn’t really seem to matter. Jon handed Ygritte the switch, gazing at her, unable to stop the soft smile that tugged at his lips. He could look at her all day, her red hair against the white snow, the fierce set of her eyes.

“You sure you’re healed enough to do that?” Tormund asked Ygritte.

“You shut your mouth or I’ll thrash you too,” Ygritte said. Tormund chuckled and threw more kindling into the fire. “Go lie over that log again,” she ordered Jon. “You can put a fur across it so you don’t chafe your bone. How is your bone, this morning, anyway?”

Jon looked at her. Was he really supposed to answer that? “Give me your hand,” Ygritte said, and somehow, Jon knew what was coming, but he obeyed her anyway. He held his left hand out to her palm up, and Ygritte snapped the switch down onto it.

“Ouch!” Jon cried, surprised, unable to stop himself.

“Do you need another?”

“No, my lady,” he said, but she switched him again anyway.

“I asked you a question. How’s your bone this morning, Jon Snow?”

Jon’s face twisted with a mixture of humiliation and defeat. “It’s hard this morning, my lady. I’m hard. I was hard all night.”

“I thought so,” Ygritte smiled approvlingly. “But you didn’t touch yourself, did you?”

“No, my lady. You ordered me not to.” It had been a tremendous effort, during Jon’s turn to take watch. His cock had throbbed and throbbed, and he had sat there alone in the cold dark with nothing to distract him from it. He had ended up sitting on his own hands, forcing himself to obey her orders. 

“Very good. You disobey that order I’ll switch your palm bloody, you hear?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, answering her quickly now, not wanting more strokes on his hand.

“Good. Now that we’re in agreement, put yourself over that log.”

“Yes my lady,” Jon said. He draped his cloak over the log, so that his cock wouldn’t chafe against the wood, and then, steeling himself, obeyed her. Part of him couldn’t believe what he was doing. It was insane. Bending over a log, naked, arse in the air, for Ygritte to whip him? Here, in front of Tormund? And yet here he was.

“Now then. Why are you getting a switching, Jon Snow?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Jon said. As he spoke the words, something in his belly tightened. He knew right away he had made a mistake.

“Oh ho ho,” Tormund chuckled knowingly from over the fire, sounding half impressed by Jon’s cheek, half sorry for him.

“What did you say to me, boy?” Ygritte said. Her voice was low.

“I—I said I don’t know, my lady. I’m sorry—“

“Tormund?”

“Aye?”

“Did you hear the way this lad just spoke to me?”

“Aye, I did. Not the way good lads speak to their ladies, was it?”

“Would you be so kind as to come over here with your belt?”

“What?” Jon said. “Ygritte—I’m sorry. I don’t know why. I—because you commanded it!” he said, finding the proper answer. Finding it too late.

“Aye,” Ygritte said. “Because I commanded it. That’s all the reason you’ll ever need, isn’t that so?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, to see if Tormund was coming.

“You knew that was the answer all along, yet you chose to give me lip, Jon Snow. Didn’t yeh?”

“Yes my lady,” Jon said, miserably. “I did.”

“He’s something fierce, this one,” Tormund said.

“Aye. Go on then. Give him a whipping for me. And don’t go thinking this replaces your birching, Jon Snow. You’ll get both.”

“Poor little Crow,” Tormund said. Jon opened his mouth to protest, but realized how childish that would make him sound. It was too late, anyway. With a loud CRACK that rang through the cold air, Tormund brought his belt swinging down across Jon’s arse with such force it sent Jon up onto his toes. It took Jon by surprise, but he swallowed his cry, and said nothing, didn’t make a sound. The next stroke landed, and it took Jon’s breath away. Tormund whipped him again, and again, and Jon grunted, his feet went scrambling for purchse on the snowy ground. Tormund was whipping him much harder than he had thrashed him, using what Jon swore must have been his absolute, full strength—a considerable amount of power. Jon held on, as Tormund slammed the belt down across his arse again, and again, and again, the pain building as the man laid one stroke down over the other. The pain grew so intense, rocking Jon with the force of each blow, that Jon finally began to quiver, trying to hold in all the sounds which were trying to escape from his mouth. He remembered clearly the way Tormund had threatened to get his belt and make Jon cry. Jon wasn’t going to cry.

He did, however, let out a groan through clenched lips, an “Mmmm!” of pain. Then, impossibly, Tormund seemed to increase the intensity and the speed of the whipping, raining the belt down upon his flesh, all across his arse and thighs, that it was finally too much. Jon could barely breathe—he couldn’t see straight—he couldn’t think. The pain was intense, he was writhing with it.“Ahhh!” he let out, twitching, his body fighting, wanting to get away. The blows were so hard, and so fast, he realized he was going to fall down, or run, or fight. Forcing himself to suppress those instincts, he moved forward, sliding himself up higher onto the log so that his feet left the ground, draping himself there helplessly.

“Why’d you do that?” he heard Ygritte say, somehow, through the furious whipping.

“I was—trying not to—fall, my lady. Or—run. I’m trying to hold myself here, for you.”

“Seven hells,” Ygritte said, but she said it in that way that Jon knew meant she approved of him. Tormund strapped him, and strapped him, and then somehow, through the pain, though he was a panting and trembling and moaning mess, he felt Ygritte’s hands in his hair.

“What do you say to Tormund?” she said.

“Mmmmmm!” Jon moaned as a particularly sharp stroke took him across his thighs. “Thank you, Tormund. For beating me.”

“Very good,” Ygritte said, scratching his head. Jon waited for the next blow, but it didn’t come.

“You’re welcome, lad. You won’t go answering back to your lady again soon, will you?”

“No my—no,” Jon said.

Tormund laughed. “Were you about to call me your lord? You call me whatever you want. I don’t think you could displease me if you tried.”

“What do they call your knights, down in the south?” Ygritte asked.

Jon squeezed his eyes, resigning himself to what was coming.

“They call them ‘ser’, my lady.”

“Ser. Has a ring , doesn’t it? You can call him Ser, when he’s seeing to you.”

“Yes my lady,” Jon said.

“Uh oh,” Tormund said. “He doesn’t like that, does he?”

“I didn’t command him to like it. I commanded him to do it. Now then, Jon Snow, what do you say to Tormund?”

“Thank you for beating me, Ser,” Jon said. His cock surged into the wood, all hope of the punishment reducing his arousal gone.

“Lovely. Just lovely. Oh, but you’re a pretty one, you are. Wish you could see your own arse, all red and quivering. Catch your breath a minute, loveling. Then I’ll start your birching. Next time you won’t answer back, will you?”

“No, my lady,” Jon said quietly, resting in the heady mix of sensation—his arse throbbing, lit on fire by Tormund’s belt, Ygritte’s hands in his hair, rubbing his scalp. The cold on his skin. Tormund somewhere behind him, watching.

Too soon, Ygritte stood, and Jon knew what was coming. “Give me your face,” she said first, however, and then she put her hands on his cheeks and lifted his face towards hers, bending down to meet him. Jon craned his neck to obey and Ygritte kissed him hungrily on the lips, her mouth open and soft, pulling at his lips. He kissed her back. Ygritte let out a moan of pleasure, then pulled away.

“Your Ser Tormund made himself scarce,” she said, her voice teasing. “So’s it’s just you and me, now. How’s your bone?”

“Hard, my lady,” Jon said, with a twinge of humiliation mixed with arousal tugging low in his belly.

“Good. All right, Jon Snow. Here’s your switching, now,” she said. Jon heard a brief whizzing sound in the air, and Ygritte whipped his arse with the switch.

“Mmmm!” Jon let out a strained cry on the first one, trying to swallow it, as the switch bit across flesh that was already hot and suffering. Ygritte chuckled.

“I knew you were feeling your whipping,” she said. “Impossible not to. Don’t know why you tried so hard to pretend you weren’t.” She switched him again. Jon screwed up his face, clenching his jaw. Gods, it was painful, over the aftereffects of the whipping.Ygritte switched him again, and Jon grunted, and then she began to switch him hard, and fast.

The switch was different from the belt—lighter, but more stingy. It started out tolerable, but as Ygritte went on thrashing him, the pain began to build, and build, until Jon was squirming again, and sweating with it, his hips grinding involuntarily into the wood with the pain.

“Are you trying to rut yourself into that wood, Jon Snow?”

“No, my lady,” he gasped. “ I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

“Mmm,” Ygritte said, like she understood. “Best get you up then. Can you stand?”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, though he wasn’t certain, and carefully leveraged himself off of the log, avoiding letting his cock touch it, afraid even the slightest contact might make him spend.

“Bend over now, love. Brace your hands on the log. See you keep your cock nice and far from it.”

Jon said yes, my lady, and obeyed, bracing himself. As soon as he was positioned, she started switching him again.

“What woman did you have to look after you, when you were small?” Ygritte said, bringing the switch down across his upper thighs.

“Mmmm! What? My lady?”

“What woman. I know you didn’t have your mother, but who was the mother of all those half brothers and sisters of yours?”

“Lady Catelyn, my lady,” he said, confused. Why was she asking him this now?

“Lady Catelyn. And was she good to you?”

“Was she good to me?” he repeated, panting, and then jerked and moaned, falling in towad the log, with the force of a quick series of blows. He pushed himself back up to his proper position.

“Aye. Was she kind?”

“She wasn’t—mmmm! Ever cruel, my lady,” he said. “But she—ahh!—wasn’t warm, either.”

“She wasn’t warm to you,” Ygritte repeated, and she sounded so sad about this that Jon suddenly worried he would start to cry. “Did she ever whip you? Or birch you, or the like?”

Jon panted, the combination of her questioning him combined with the fierce pain driving him a little desperate. “No, she never did. But she---mmmmmm!—she had Father whip me, sometimes.”

“A good little boy like you?” Ygritte said. “How can it be? What did she make him whip you for?”

“My lady,” Jon said, close to tears. It was a plea. How was he supposed to speak clearly to her under the force of the switching? Ygritte caught him a few times across the thighs, Jon jerking with it, and then she said, gently,

“Do I need to get Tormund and his belt back here, love?”

“No, my lady,” Jon said. “I’m sorry. She—mmmm!—she thought I was too rough, once. With Arya. We were playing at swords. Just wooden ones. Arya—mmmmm!—Arya loved the sword.”

“Your sister loved it, but your Lady Catelyn had you switched for it anyway?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said.

“Hmmmm,” Ygritte said. “Quiet now, loveling. I’m going to switch you nice and hard, for a bit, and then it will be over. How’s your bone?’

“Harder,” Jon admitted, distraught with the pain and his arousal.

“Thank you, love,” Ygritte answered, and then she made good on her promise, going quiet and switching Jon, Jon jerking and moaning with nearly every stroke. Tears formed in Jon’s eyes, but he fought desperately to keep them back, determined. He tried to surrender to the pain, to give in to it, rather than to fight it. But it seemed that with every bite of the switch, the struggle began anew.

The pain built up to a level so great that Jon’s legs began to shake, and he worried they’d go out from underneath him. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand another moment, Ygritte switched him across his arse and then said, “Alright, love. It’s over. You took your punishment.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jon said, and already she was at his side. She pulled his breeches back up around his waist, over his raw, tender flesh, and then she took the cloak he’d placed on the tree, spread it quickly on the ground, and sunk down to sit on the snow, pulling Jon with her. She pulled him at such an angle that he landed with his head in her lap, and though he immediately tried to sit up, Ygritte wrapped one arm under his neck and shoulders, and draped the other atop him, cradling him.

“Shhhh,” she soothed, petting his hair. Some part of Jon was embarrassed, to be held like this by his woman, but that part was far away, and overwhelmed with pain and an intoxicating mix of emotions. “Oh, you make me so urgent for you, when I see you like that, you do.”

“Am I allowed to see to that, my lady?” Jon asked, his breathing returning to normal. 

“Do you think you could handle it? I wasn’t going to let you, out of mercy for your state.”

“I’ll handle it,” Jon promised, turning and flicking his eyes up to her. Ygritte was beaming at him fondly. 

“All right,” she agreed. But remember, it’s not me who asked you.”

Jon smiled, and began unlacing her breeches. Ygritte pushed up on her hands and Jon tugged them out from underneath her. Then he shifted onto his stomach, situated his head between her legs, and began to nip at her thighs. 

“I love the way you taste,” he said. 

“Do ya?”

“Mmm-hmmm. I love the way you smell,” he said, and pressed his nose up into her. 

“What else do you love?”

“I love they way you look,” he said. Kissed her, right on her lower lips. “I love how fierce you are. I love it when you beat me.”

“Ahh, there you go,” Ygritte said. Jon wasn’t sure if she was referring to his words, or to what he was currently doing with his tongue, flicking it along the petals of her. Then her breath hitched and she pressed herself up and into him, and he knew he was on course. Ygritte began to let out her little moans and gasps, each one a delight to Jon. It did nothing to help deaden his arousal, but he didn’t care. Being whipped sated something in him, left him feeling yielding and hungry to please her. It wasn’t the same as peaking, but it was a pleasure all the same. 

Jon used his lips, and then his tongue, and then his nose on Ygritte, burying himself in her, until she began to lose herself the way she did, and tug at his hair, pulling him into her. 

“Oh, Jon Snow!” she gasped, and then she was cresting, jerking her hips up toward his face, pulling him into her as she shuddered and shook, as she trembled. 

When she was done, Jon placed a kiss on her inner thigh and then lay his head there, his cheek resting on her thigh, his arms cradling her hips. 

“I was raised with the old gods,” he said. “But now all I want is to worship you.”

Panting, Ygritte stroked his hair. “Oh, you do, Jon Snow. You surely do.”

* * *

A sound, in the night. He woke immediately and by some instinct, grabbed for his sword. Time distorted—it all happened slowly, but somehow everything at once. A skeletal figure leapt over him, a knife held aloft in the air, aiming for Tormund’s back. Tormund was turned away—didn’t see it, didn’t hear it. Jon opened his mouth to yell a warning, his body working to somehow pull himself up the ground and lunge at the figure at once. Tormund was turning, but his axe was on the ground at his side—he wouldn’t be able to brandish it in time. Jon’s sword arced through the darkness. Before the figure could reach Tormund, Longclaw connected with the skeletal, writhing figure. It dropped to dust between them.

“Ygritte!” he cried. “Tormund!”

Tormund was on his feet already, axe clutched in two hands, moving toward Jon from a short distance away, where he had been keeping watch faithfully—just keeping it in the wrong direction, looking over the flat plain ahead of them, and not the sharp cliff behind, where they’d made their camp, counting on the sharp drop off to offer natural protection.

Jon got his feet underneath him, holding Longclaw forward, as more wights spilled over the top of the cliff. With a roar, he threw himself into them, ending three quickly—a blow to the head, the shoulder of another, the belly of the third. He looked wildly for Ygritte and saw she was on her feet as well. But her arrows were little use against these creatures—she shot one through the belly and it continued at her.

The rush of battle took him over, the flow. Jon whirled and saw Tormund struggling to push a hissing wight away from his neck, only the handle of his axe between them. He flew at them, throwing a wight off his own back, and brought his sword down upon the one at Tormund’s throat. It shattered instantly. Then he spun, sliced through two more, and made for Ygritte. She had thrown down her bow and arrow and had drawn her knife, was hacking madly away at the neck of a Walker, to no avail—and then it was upon her—and Jon struck at that one, too, and watched it shatter.

Valyrian steel. And dragon glass.

“Dragon glass,” he shouted at her. “You need dragon glass!”

Ygritte looked at him like he was mad, and then understanding dawned on her face, and she lunged for her sack.

Tormund was roaring, tearing at the wights, throwing them off him, dashing their bones against the boulders. Jon wanted to tell Ygritte to run even as he knew she never would. He spun away from her then, toward the cliff, and, letting out a roar, threw himself into the thick of the wights. 

They were on him, a terrible swarm. Gnawing, ripping, gashing. Jon shattered one, then another, trying to keep them away from Ygritte, and Tormund, who weren’t armed with Valyrian steel. He destroyed two more, then turned back to Ygritte. She was beating at them with what looked like a club, a club that was making wight after wight shatter and fall to dust.

He turned back to Tormund, who was struggling, with a wight on his back and one at his front and another clutching at his feet. Letting out a roar, Jon rushed toward them, sword held aloft, and struck through the one on Tormund’s back first. This allowed Tormund to split one in half with his axe, and then go for the one at his feet.

Jon looked toward the cliff, searching for something—and found it. There, watching the Others pour over the face of the cliff, was a White Walker that looked different. Older. Something more human about it, less feral and crazed. Fighting his way through the swarming wights, Jon made for the White Walker. It raised its own sword, ready for him. Calm as the moon. Jon swung his sword. The walker blocked it, and then they were whirling in battle. The Walker was strong, and swift, and it managed to put Jon on the defensive—until Jon blocked low, and then somehow forced the walkers sword up, up, and over. The walker pulled back, preparing to strike straight downward onto Jon’s head—leaving its middle exposed. 

Jon thrust his sword into the Walker’s belly.

The walker shattered and fell to dust on the ground—and then so did all the others. It happened abruptly, so abrupty that for a moment Tormund and Ygritte were both left swinging at air, fighting off enemies that were no longer there. Enemies that now laid in ashes on the ground.

Panting, Jon let his sword drop, and turned toward them.

“Are you both all right?” he said, moving toward Ygritte. He reached her and took her up in his arms, pulling her tight against him.

“I’m all right,” she said, holding him, letting him hold her. Jon kissed the top of her forehead and was about to ask if she was injured, if her sutures were pulled, when he heard a great booming laugh rise up from behind him.

They both turned to Tormund then, looking on in wonder as his laugh grew and grew, so that he was bent forward, leaning onto his knees.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he said.

“What?” said Jon.

“Ygritte. You were fighting off those White Walkers with a bleeding cock.”

Ygritte held up the weapon in her hand and stared at it in wonder, still breathing hard, still dazed with battle. She looked away from it, into Jon’s eyes, and then began to laugh.

“I killed those Others with my own cock,” she said.

Jon laughed at that. He couldn’t help it, despite his concern, despite the blood trickling down his face from the wound on his forehead.

“Dragon glass,” he said.

“Aye, so you told me,” she said. “Bet you weren’t picturing anything like this,” and then the three of them were laughing so hard that Ygritte fell down into the crust of hard snow, pulling Jon down with her.

“I’ll never forget the sight of that as long as I live,” Tormund said. “All of us about to die and you beating at the Others with your thick glass cock.” They laughed together, with the sort of giddines that sometimes followed near brushes with death. The relief to be alive. 


	6. The Cave Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cave, need I say more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovers. This is the first part of a longer scene. I wanted to get it out to you today because I love this scene and because I'm headed out of town and don't know when I'll be able to polish the second part. It will come later, in a separate chapter. xoxo.

Ygritte had tried to wait patiently, but finally she’d had enough. She turned to Jon, where he walked a step behind her. She hadn’t tied his hands since the attack by the Others. Even though she always made sure they were knots he could slip easily in an emergency, she couldn’t risk it, here when they seemed to be so close to unknown dangers. Ordering him to keep a step behind her was a good way to keep him focused, let him practice obeying, let him feel handled. He was good at it, too. Whenever she tested him, by coming to a halt, or speeding up, he was right there with her, keeping his exact step behind. When she glanced at him, during such tests, there was no hint on his face that he knew what she’s doing, except for the slightest trace of a lusty glimmer in his eye. Jon Snow letting his naughty side show like that was a precious thing. She didn’t take it for granted.

“Don’t you recognize where we are yet, Snow?” she said, walking backwards so she could look at him. Tormund was a few feet behind Jon, singing a bawdy tune to himself. Jon looked around.

“If it’s not the fist of the first men, or the land around Craster’s Keep, I’m afraid it all looks the same to me, my lady,” he said. Letting it slip. _My lady._ Not that she’d ever complain.

“Hmm,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Guess we’ll just have to keep walking then.” She cast a glance down to his groin, checking to see how he was doing with his yearnings. He seemed subdued enough, for now. When she flicked her eyes back up to his, he was looking at her with a long-suffering expression. Clearly he knew what she was doing. She grinned at him, her tongue peaking out the side of her mouth, just a bit, and kept walking. He was only a little bit glowery, the last few days, as she and Tormund had been keeping him so well-spanked. Every night he got it, over one of their knees or the other, and it was doing him a world of good. Except for his poor little pecker, anyway.

They crested a hill, and as the valley opened up below them, Ygritte stopped and looked at Jon.

“Do you see it yet?’ she asked.

A pleasant sort of expression fell across his face. For a moment he looked actually peaceful, instead of pouty and glowering. “The cave?” he said. “Our cave. It’s down there, isn’t it.”

“Aye,” she said.

“Thank the gods,” said Tormund, slapping Jon on the back. “You’re starting to stink.”

“Aye,” Ygritte said, just to see him frown. “And you’ve still got blood on yer face, you do.”

Jon frowned obligingly, reaching up to brush at his forehead. The blood from the fight with the Others was dried now, caked on his forehead, about his hairline.

“It’s no use,” she said. “We’ll just have to go in.”

She started at a run toward the mouth of the cave, forcing Jon to keep apace with her. When they reached it, panting, Ygritte ducked inside and immediately began to shuck off her clothes. The thermal cave was a gift from the earth, it was, warm and steamy inside, a rare escape from the winds and cold. Jon and Tormund did as she did, stripping their clothes, both of them smelling ripe and male.

Ygritte was first in the water. She threw herself in, going completely under, wetting her hair. She rose above the surface just in time to see Jon and Tormund jumping in, Tormund letting out a celebrating holler. Her Jon was quieter, of course. He went under and when he came up, he was smiling at her, his curls sleeked to his head, that together with his brown eyes giving him the look of a seal pup. She adored that smile, all the more for how rare it was.

“Seven hells,” she sighed. “Is there anything so pleasant in the world? It might even beat your tongue on my cunt,” she said to Jon.

His eyes smiled. “Suppose that means I’ll have to try harder,” he said, and lunged for her, drawing her into his arms and pressing the length of him naked up against her. She threw an arm around his shoulder and hung on. His cock pressed into her legs, hard already. Oh, she was torturing him so. She wondered how much longer he’d last before he’d beg, like a good lad. How sweet it was going to be, to hear Jon Snow beg.

“What’ll you do without me,” she whispered. “When you get to the Wall?”

Jon looked at her deeply. “Let’s not talk about that,” he whispered. “Not here. In our cave.”

Tormund let out a hoot of laughter. “She bring you here for your first time with her, did she? Aye, she did for me too. And about a dozen other lads.”

“Shut your mouth, you great lumbering jackass,” Ygritte said. “Jon Snow’s a lord. He’s not used to our ways.”

“I’m not a lord—“

“Anyway, they’re all dead to me now,” Ygritte said. “Now that I have you.” She leaned in and put her tongue in his mouth, and let him kiss her deeply before pulling away.

“No more of that then, it would only be a cruelty,” she said. She turned to splash away, but Jon raked his fingernails down her back, scratching her spine, and the sensation was exquisite.

“Ohhh,” she groaned. “That’s lovely. Don’t stop!” she said, when he pulled away. Her lover chuckled and did as he was told, scratching away at her shoulders, all the way down her back, onto her arse cheeks even. She kept him at it for a good while. When she was finally satisfied, Ygritte pulled away from him and went to scrub at her hair. When she did, Tormund threw himself atop Jon, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him under, and the two of them roughed about like that for awhile, splashing and hollering and, it would seem, trying to drown one another, while she washed.

They lingered for a long time in the water. Ygritte was the first out. Jon followed her. Maybe he thought he was still supposed to keep a pace with her, she thought. “You stay in, enjoy yourself, if you’d like,” she said.

Jon tilted his head at her. “Let me massage your shoulders. I bet they’re sore, after that fight.”

“Massage?”

“Rub,” he said.

“Oh, you want to rub me, do you? Trying to get me to let you spend?”

Jon smiled indulgently. “I just know how a body feels after a fight, is all.”

“All right then, Jon Snow,” she said. “Shall I sit?”

“Lie on your belly,” he said. She did, stretching herself out along her furs. Jon straddled her back, still naked everywhere, sat himself right on her arse with his swollen member pressing into her. First he gathered her hair up and gently stroked it off to the side, clearing her back. Even just that was lovely, the way he handled her with such care. Then he put his hands on her shoulders, and began to rub.

“Oohhhhh,” Ygritte sighed. “That’s delicious, truly that is.” Jon worked his strong hands into her shoulders, along her back, kneading, pressing, moving downward along her spine.

“The Battle of the Dragon Glass Cock,” Tormund said. “That’s what we’ll be calling it for years to come. The day Ygritte strapped her cock on and thrust it like a man thrusts his skin sword, taking down White Walkers one by one.”

She felt Jon shaking above her and realized it was with laughter. “It weren’t strapped on,” she said.

“It was if we say it was,” Tormund said. “Who will argue with me? I don’t tell tall tales.”

Ygritte and Jon both burst into laughter together, at this.

Jon massaged her for so long Ygritte nearly fell asleep. The cave was warm, and the rubbing felt so good. After a long while, her lover said, “Shall I do you too then?”

“Oh lad,” said Tormund. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Is that all right?” Jon asked Ygritte, dipping his head to kiss the back of her neck. 

“Aye, I’ve had enough,” she said. With a lingering palm along her back, Jon rose and went to where Tormund lay on his own furs, drying. Tormund rolled over onto his belly, and Ygritte was surprised to see Jon Snow climb right atop the other man’s back, without fussing about Tormund’s nakedness, or his own.

“If it hadn’t been for you that night we’d probably all have died,” Tormund said, and then let out a long, booming moan as Jon began to knead his fists into his shoulders.

“We can’t know if that’s true,” Jon said.

“We can though. That thing was headed straight for me. Would have had my head off if it wasn’t for you.”

Jon didn’t even smile at this. Just kept kneading Tormund’s shoulders. Ygritte rested her head on her arms and watched. She and Tormund had had one other lover together. A fair and handsome man about Ygritte’s age who was brilliant with an arrow and liked being thrashed almost as much as Jon Snow did. Laken, had been his name. They had enjoyed one another thoroughly for awhile. Then a White Walker had killed Laken and turned him before Ygritte or Tormund could get to him, before they could burn his body. They’d had to run from him, and all the others, outnumbered.

Ygritte pushed the memory from her head. She looked at Jon Snow. His skin was pale here, even in the dark light. Pale like Tormund’s, like her own, but not freckled, not anywhere. She could see what he and Tormund would look like together, their hair. Night and fire. A blessed combination. His curls were drying around his face, coiling back into their shape, a mane more beautiful than any she’d ever seen. Jon was focused on Tormund’s muscles, his brow knitting together as he pushed hard into one spot and Tormund groaned. She raised her head up to see his cock. It was swollen indeed, near to bursting. She exchanged a glance with Tormund, who could surely feel it. Tormund raised his eyebrows, patient and amused. Laken had taken straight to both of them, didn’t have the qualms about two men together such as Lord Snow did. But he hadn’t been a lord, Laken. Had been raised north of the wall, where there were no ideas about such things being harmful.

“Don’t you want Tormund to see to you, Jon Snow,” Ygritte said. “How lovely it would be, here in our cave.”

Jon looked at her, and shook his head. Then he continued rubbing Tormund, working down the man’s broad back.

Ygritte let it go on for a long time, as long as she could, considering how beautiful the sight was, the two of them, together like that. A sort of feast of hardness and muscle. When it was finally too much, she went on all fours and crawled to them, her breasts bare, dangling like full teats.

“Let me see if he’s as hard as you,” she said to Jon. His brow knitting with the pain of his yearning for her, Jon nodded and moved off of Tormund. Tormund let out a moan of pleasure and rolled over. Sure enough, his cock was swollen and stiff. Keeping her eyes locked on Jon’s, Ygritte lowered her face, and then opened her mouth and took in the length of Tormund, as much as she could anyway, and began to move on him.

Jon’s eyes went wide, and on his face formed the sweetest frown. Tormund thrust his hips up into her, moaning, and Jon turned his head away. Ygritte reached up to him, grabbed his cheeks in one hand, and turned him back. She didn’t know if he was looking away out of courtesy, or jealousy, or both, but either way, she wanted him to watch. For a moment.

She moved her mouth up and down the length of Tormund. He closed his eyes, and reached a hand up toward Jon, probably forgetting himself a bit. His palm went to Jon’s chest and Jon drew in breath quickly—and then placed his own hand over Tormund’s, resting it there.  


“Oh, lad,” Tormund said, glancing up, and pulled his hand away from Jon. He had forgotten himself, aye. Tormund was nothing if not a considerate lover, Ygritte knew from experience. While she had liked to sometimes take Laken without his express permission, surprising him as she had done with Jon, Tormund always sought his blessing first. It was a difference between them.

Jon had begun to tremble.

“Come underneath me, Jon Snow,” she said. Relief on her lover’s face. This he knew how to do.

Jon moved around to her side. Ygritte went up, lifting her arse off her heels, presenting it in the air as she kept her head down, her mouth around Tormund. Jon laid down and slid, so that his face was beneath her. Ygritte lowered herself, just so, so that he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to reach her. She pulled off Tormund to say, “If I forget myself, and sit on your face, just give me a slap on the rump. Don’t want to smother yeh.”

“My lady,” Jon breathed, sounding so scandalized Ygritte let out a laugh, and then put her mouth back around Tormund.

Jon put his mouth on her. He started slowly, languidly. He licked at her inner thighs, grazed his nose and lips along the outsides of her folds. Then he flicked his tongue at her, gently, teasing her. Went back to her inner thighs again, this time suckling hard. _Fucking hell_ , she thought, and moved to finish Tormund off quickly. It wouldn’t be long, she knew, before she couldn’t focus on anything other than Jon Snow’s mouth on her.

“Ohhhh,” Ygritte heard herself mewing, and then Tormund was pulsing, hot milk surging into her mouth. Ygritte let him finish, and then turned and spit it out, a longing thought for the things she could make Jon Snow do with that spend. But he wasn’t ready yet, and she wouldn’t rush him.

As soon as he finished, and Ygritte had let his spend out on the cave floor, Tormund sat up, moving forcefully as he always did, and caught Ygritte beneath her arms, supporting her. Ygritte leaned against him, pressed against his chest, and he held her as Jon paused just for a moment, absorbing this new arrangement—Tormund’s spent cock hanging just a short ways above Jon’s face—and then continued his attentions to Ygritte’s openings. Ygritte moaned and went boneless, trusting Tormund to support her. Jon’s teeth nipped ever so gently at her lips and Ygritte threw her head back, shuddering with pleasure.

“Oh!” she cried. “Tell me about his cock. Is it hard?”

“The tiny little thing is practically dancing,” Tormund said.

Jon let out an angry sort of growl. It vibrated deliciously against her pearl. She gave a little jerk.

“He’s going to spend any moment if he isn’t careful,” warned Tormund.

“Don’t you dare---ohhhh!—spend yourself, Jon Snow,” said Ygritte.

“I won’t, my lady,” Jon said. He sounded angry. The anger was interesting—a glimpse of the wild wolf inside him.

“Do I need to get my cock and subdue you?” she said. Strong boys like Jon needed stronger punishments. His were going to need to intensify, she saw.

There it was again. That growl. He was so hungry for her, he was angry with it. “Let her down a bit,” Jon said to Tormund. “Let her ride me.”

Ygritte reached her hand around in a flash and grabbed the tip of Jon’s cock, pinching it. He drew breath in sharply, and then went completely still. She squeezed harder, looked down at his face. He had his eyes shut against the pain, his face a pretty grimace. The important part was, he made no attempt to stop her. He lay there and allowed her to do what she would with his cock, to punish it if she chose. Submitting. That was good. She knew he would test her eventually, but she hadn’t been expecting it now.

“I spoke to you and you didn’t answer me,” Ygritte said, her voice low, dangerous.

Jon swallowed hard. “Forgive me, my lady. You don’t need to get your cock. I won’t spend, I promise. I can’t, anyway. Not without being touched. I’ll obey.”

Ygritte pinched his cock a moment longer, until he balled his fists and squirmed and let out the faintest little sound of pain from the far back of his throat.

“That’s better then,” she said, releasing him. “You do that again, you’ll get what you get for defiance, as that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Go on.”

“Please,” Jon repeated. “Ride me, Ygritte.”

Tormund made an approving sound and lowered Ygritte, so that she was all but sitting on Jon. He drove his face into her hungrily, devouring her, his mouth everywhere, his tongue even grazing the edge of her back opening. Gods, there was nothing the lad wouldn’t do, with the proper training. She threw her head back, letting out a carnal moan. He nipped at her pearl and she gasped, and then Jon grew mad with lust, and took her by the hips and pulled her onto him, landing her hard atop him. She allowed it, as her climax was building inside of her, churning now. Ygritte moved her hips in circles, just the way she liked, ground herself onto Jon’s face until she was coming, crying out with it, leaning her head against Tormund’s chest and peaking, the wave cresting, taking her under, then lapping away. Leaving her shuddering and panting.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh!” Tormund lifted her off Jon’s face and he drew in breath, gasping a little, beaming at her. His face and beard damp, glistening with her nectars.

“Oh, sweet boy,” Ygritte said again, stroking his matted curls off his brow. She released Tormund and fell over, collapsing onto the furs below her. “Oh, Jon Snow.”

Tormund chuckled and stretched out alongside her. Ygritte reached her hand down for Jon. He let her pull him down alongside him. She rested her head on his chest, her arm thrown across him. Tormund had her around the waist from her other side. She looked down at Jon’s poor cock—swollen, standing straight up. “Are you alright?” she asked him.

Jon nodded, but he shut his eyes, threw his arm up over his forehead and pressed it into himself, like trying to hold something in. His body quivered, and his face was a very particular sort of tortured. She knew the look. Jon Snow was a sensual creature, beneath all the armor he wore. He was half mad with all the touch from her and Tormund—over stimulated. Distraught. He looked like he wanted to cry.

“Sshhhh,” she soothed, stroking his chest with her fingers. “Poor Jon Snow.” She waited, to see if he would ask to spend. He didn’t.

Sleep took her.


	7. The Cave Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More good times in the cave.

They dozed for awhile, there on the furs in the warmth of the cave. Finally Tormund gave her a little shake.

“We ought to go,” he said.

“Aye,” Ygritte said sleepily. She looked at Jon. His eyes were open and there was a pained expression on his face. She wondered if he had slept at all. “Come on then, Snow,” she said. Standing, she and Tormund began the work of pulling all their clothes back on, their furs and cloaks and boots. Ygritte had managed the first layer, was in her breeches and a long over shirt, when Tormund raised his chin at something behind her, and Ygritte turned to see Jon dropping to his knees, before her, fully naked, his hands folded behind his back, his head bowed. 

He said nothing.

“What is it?” Ygritte said gently. Jon raised his gaze to meet hers, and his eyes were pleading and desperate, but still, he didn’t speak.

“All right. I’ll have a guess then. I think you’re in need of a whipping, because you’re so desperate to spend you’re in pain, and you’re past the point when you can calm yourself from it. Is that right?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, looking like someone had died. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, loveling. You were such a good boy to ask. Or come as close to asking as you could, anyway. The beating has got to be hard, though, otherwise it will only make you more desperate. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said.

Ygritte studied him, there on his knees, his hands folded behind him like a good and proper lad, his poor little cock standing straight at attention. A thrashing weren’t going to do him any good, not at this point, and Ygritte doubted a birching would either. He’d have to get a true whipping then.

“Bring me your belt now, Jon Snow.”

Jon’s eyes shut in what Ygritte knew was a very particular-to-Snow reaction of relief and embarrassment, said, “Yes, my lady,” and moved to obey. She glanced back over her shoulder at Tormund. He raised his eyebrows at her, a knowing look. Jon was bending over his breeches. In a moment he had freed his belt from them. His cock was practically pulsing with want. The poor boy, even this was stirring him. The being made to fetch himself an implement for her to whip him with, the anticipation of the whipping. He was right bothered by it all. Ygritte watched him steady himself with a deep breath, and then turn to her. He went back down to his knees before her, offering her the belt.

“I never even taught him to do that,” Ygritte said to Tormund, taking the belt. “He just did.”

“Aye, he’s a good lad,” Tormund said. Jon’s cheeks flushed, a warmth Ygritte was coming to understand as his expression of pleasure mixed with humiliation. They were nearly the same thing for him, of course.

She looked around the cave. It wasn’t a good angle, to sit on the ground and put him over her lap, yet there were no handy logs around. They could leave the cave, of course, but she wanted to beat him here. Wanted the three of them to linger here, in this private world, for just a little longer.

“You think you could support him across yeh, over on that there boulder?” she asked. She kept an eye on Jon Snow, to see if he would protest, at her involving Tormund. He didn’t.

“I could if yeh like,” Tormund said. “But don’t you know about the altar stone?”

“The altar stone?”

“Round aback the other side of the pool. Yeh probably never made it that far, I bet. Too busy—“

“I told yeh, not in front of Lord Snow,” Ygritte said. “You want me to have to whip you too?”

“Aye, I suppose not,” Tormund laughed heartily. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Ygritte followed him. Then, remembering, she turned to tell Jon Snow he’d best be keeping his proper one step behind—only to find him already there, as if he were tethered to her with a rope.

“What am I to do with you?” she said fondly. Jon smiled, but Ygritte could see he was still distressed. His eyes were too hot, almost glassy. His lips were parted, he didn’t normally hold them like that, this one. Aye, he was in a lovely, wretched state.

Tormund took them around behind the pool and sure enough, there was a stone that was long and flat, like a bench. “Good for thrashing. And for fucking. Buggering. Good for all manner of delights,” he said.

Ygritte nodded. “All right, lover. I can see you’re near beside yourself, darling. I’m going to make this beating hard then, eh?”

Jon shut his eyes, and nodded. Poor thing. Just her speaking to him like that was probably stirring him up more. “Yes, my lady,” he said.

“All that touching was lovely, wasn’t it?" she said more gently. Jon nodded, miserably. Tormund clucked his tongue.

“Poor little crow,” he said indulgently.

Ygritte jerked her chin at the stone. Reading her signal, Tormund sat on the lip of it, and then Ygritte sat next to him.

“Come over my knee now, love,” she commanded. She thought Jon might protest, at Tormund being so close, but he didn’t. He came to her and went docilely over her lap, his head naturally falling onto Tormund’s knees as he did.

“Come to daddy,” Tormund said gruffly, fondly, and Jon nodded, let Tormund draw Jon up toward him, situate the boy’s head on his lap. Ygritte couldn’t believe it.

“Why won’t you just ask him to take care of you, already?” she said aloud. Jon bit his lip. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but he made no reply, wouldn't say naught or aught. Tormund shrugged. “Have it your way, then,” she said. “Don’t you dare start rutting into me, Jon Snow. I think I’ve taught you better, but trust me, you’ll be regretting it hard and strong if you try to sate yourself like this.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, his voice telling her he was completely surrendered already. It was hard to whip them, when their spirits were already soft and pliant like this, but it had to be done. Easier to whip a naughty boy, who was bucking and thrashing about, but Jon Snow was rarely naughty.

“Here we go then, loveling,” she said. She doubled Jon’s belt over in two, raised it up into the air, and then brought it smacking down upon his darling bare arse, all quivering and flinching before her. Jon took it silently. She smacked the belt into his bottom again, and though he jerked underneath the force of it, he kept himself silent. She beat him a third time, the belt letting out a loud SMACK against his arse, over the red welts from the first strokes. Jon kept silent. She raised it in the air and brought the belt down across his arse with all of her strength, and though his body jerked on the impact, Jon Snow said nothing. Made no sound.

Frowning a little, expecting more of a reaction, Ygritte raised the belt and whipped Jon properly, beating his bare arse with it again, and again, seven times, eight, nine, ten, and while he jerked with every blow, he held his silence.

Maybe he wasn’t soft and pliant, then. A soft and pliant Jon would be blubbing at her already, telling her he loved her, thanking her for his strokes. She looked at Tormund, who shook his head at her wearily. Jon Snow was a mystery, sometimes.

“What are you thinking down there, love?” she said, taking the edge of the belt and running it into the split of Jon’s arse. His cheeks flexed a bit, but he didn’t tense overly much. She pushed the belt in further, testing.

“I’m not thinking anything, my lady,” he said. “I’m just trying to take my whipping.”

“Hmmm. That so?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said.

THWACK. Tormund was close enough to smack Jon’s arse himself, and now he did. This did elicit a sound from Jon, a pained little “Mmmmmff!” from the force of it, Jon’s head jerking up out of Tormund’s lap, his body straining.

“Are you lying to her, Crow?” Tormund said.

Jon breathed in deeply, panted a moment. “Yes,” he said at last.

Ygritte whipped the belt down onto the backs of this thighs. “Yes what, boy?”

“Yes, ser,” Jon corrected himself.

“So you are thinking of something,” Ygritte said. “But you don’t want to say what. Is that the all of it?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, his forehead resting on Tormund’s strong thigh, sounding miserable. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve got to be punished for lying now.”

“Seven hells,” Ygritte sighed, truly dismayed. “You’re the best boy I’ve ever seen, and yet you somehow manage to go get yourself in so much trouble, Jon Snow. You know how many lads I’ve had my whole life ever ask me to thrash them for their mistakes before I suggested it? Just the one. And it’s you. And aye, you need to be punished for your lying. Lying is for naughty boys, I thought you were above it.” She looked at Tormund. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Usually lads who lie get a mouth full of cock until I decide they don’t anymore,” Tormund said. Jon made the most fetching little sound of protest and surprise. “But he’s not there yet, is he? Perhaps we give him a warning, this time. Seeing as how he’s usually such a good lad, and as how he asked for it.”

“Aye, you’re too soft by far,” Ygritte rolled her eyes. “Have it your way, then. That’s your warning, Jon Snow. You heard what happens next time you lie to us like a naughty lad? You want to try to sleep with his fat cock in your mouth?”

“No-I mean yes, my lady. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry, ser.”

“That’s a good boy then,” Tormund said. “See how lucky you are, that I’m here?”

“Yes ser,” Jon said, like it pained him, and then jerked under the sudden lash of the belt. Ygritte began to beat him full on then, hard and fast. She brought the belt up and rained it down upon his backside in a flurry of strokes, whipping him, punishing his arse, the backs of his strong thighs. She watched as his pale muscles trembled there, a beguiling sight, the strength and hardness of him submitted like this, to whatever pain she chose to give him. Seven hells, he had her in trouble, this one did. She was aroused again already. She could hardly look at Jon Snow at all without wanting to push him to the ground and make him devour her.

The fact that he obliged her so readily, every time, didn’t help.

Jon let out a strangled sound of pain, his body straining, and then he went limp. Tormund hushed him, petting his hair, and then at last Ygritte heard him draw in long and let out a little shudder, and she knew tears were escaping.

“There now,” Tormund said approvingly. Ygritte watched as Jon burrowed his head deeper into Tormund’s lap. He probably didn’t realize what he was doing, but it was torture to her all the same. Gods, how lovely he’d look right now, with his pretty mouth around Tormund’s cock.

“I’ve got to keep whipping ya,” Ygritte said. “I can still feel your bone.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jon said, and it was clear he was humiliated.

“None of that, lad,” Tormund said. “You ought to be proud, of how you’re doing.”

“Tormund,” Jon said suddenly, and lifted his head, turning it to see Tormund’s face. From the look in his eyes, Ygritte sensed something was about to be said that went deep, and so she stopped whipping him a moment, and let him speak.

“How could you ever ride into battle with me?” Jon said, like it was breaking him in two. “After seeing me like this?”

Tormund was not a giant, but he was a giant of a man, and it could be thrilling to see him move like one. He grabbed Jon by the shoulders and dragged him up, off Ygritte’s lap, pulled the boy to a stand, and Ygritte let him. Tormund planted Jon on his feet and made sure he was steady there, giving him a little shake. Tears rolling down Jon’s face, Jon trying to blink them back. Then Tormund landed one hand roughly on Jon’s shoulder, and bent down to look him right in the face as he spoke, his eyes deadly serious.

“ _Crow._ After seeing you like this, how could I not?”

Ygritte watched it play out. Jon was panting, meeting Tormund’s gaze, looking half undone. But then he seemed to draw himself up. It was a beautiful thing to see. As if, at least for one moment, Jon Snow was able not just to accept the sort of boy he was, but to feel proud of it.

“All right?” Tormund said.

Jon nodded. “All right. Ser, “ he added, catching himself.

Tormund was nearly overcome. Ygritte could see it, the way he hung onto himself, just barely. He cupped Jon’s face in both hands and pulled Jon to him, just a bit, not the full body press he surely wanted to give Jon—not the lift and sling over the shoulder he probably wanted to give him as well, to carry their Jon away, do all manner of things to him. No. Tormund just cupped the lads face and looked hard into his eyes.

“Be a good lad, now. Take your whipping.”

“Yes ser,” Jon said, and did a beautiful thing with his body, letting all those hard muscles go soft and pliant, letting Tormund hold his weight as Jon draped himself back over Ygritte’s lap, rested his face back in between Tormund’s thighs, Jons hands folding up behind his back, leaving his arse exposed. Tormund gripped Jon’s hands in one of his, and put his other in Jon’s curls, stroking him soothingly.

Ygritte sighed. Oh, it was hard to do, when he was like this. She steeled herself, and then resumed whipping him. Jon’s whole body jerked as she struck him, and then he turned his face off his cheek and buried it into Tormund’s lap, burrowing. It was behavior Ygritte had seen before. Being whipped made boys like Jon eager to please. She exchanged a glance with Tormund.

“Mmmm!” Jon moaned, twitching, on a particularly hard stroke.

“He’s going to get himself in trouble,” Tormund said. She whipped him again. Before she could think what to say or do about it, Jon spoke himself.

“My lady?” Jon said, turning back onto his cheek to speak to her.

Ygritte paused the whipping. “What is it, love?”

“May I ask for something?”

“You can always ask for anything,” she said, petting his hair. 

“Can I ask Tormund?”

Ygritte nodded solemnly. “You may.”

“Tormund,” Jon said, steeling himself. “Would you—would you please. . .” he stopped, unable to finish. He was quivering. His eyes were huge and dark and glassy. The boy was overwrought. 

“You have to say it, darling. We won’t do this part for you.”

“Tormund. When my punishment is over, and I’m allowed to—spend again,” he said, squirming with the arousal this sent him to, “Would you please take care of me?”

Tormund and Ygritte both made immediate noises of approval, petting him all over, Tormund’s hand in his hair, Ygritte rubbing his back, his bottom. 

“Oh lad,” Tormund said. “Such a good boy to ask. You’ve always got to ask is for what you need, that’s how we’ll know to give it to you.”

“Aye. Look at you Jon Snow,” Ygritte said. Although just a while ago the boy had been swearing he weren’t ready for Tormund, she wasn’t surprised he’d changed his mind. They’d driven him desperate to submit, to serve. “Well make a free man of you yet.” Jon flushed at the words.

“Are you asking me to fuck you, my little crow?” Tormund said gently. “Or just to see to your yearnings?”

“Both,” Jon breathed into Tormund’s lap, and both Ygritte and Tormund petted Jon again. 

“What a good boy you are, loveliness,” Ygritte said. 

“Aye. Good lad,” Tormund said. “That’s my good lad. And oh, if you only knew how much I wanted too. But I’m afraid I can’t.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes. “Come on, then, Giantsbane. He asked you, didn’t he? How is that not enough?”

“Aye. Look at him though. He’s desperate. He doesn’t want me so much as he needs to be sated. I won’t have him waking up tomorrow feeling he was somehow forced into it. He needs to ask of his own free will.”

“I am,” Jon said. “I want to know what it’s like. And I trust you. Both of you.”

“See how vulnerable he makes himself to you?” Ygritte said. “You’re going to let him down, after that?”

Tormund huffed our air. “He needs to have a choice.”

Ygritte sighed. She wasn’t ready to let Jon Snow come. Was still punishing him for leaving her. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes, you know,” she told Tormund. Jon moved his head to her, looking wounded. “Not you, love. Never you,” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “You’re worth every moment a hundred times over.” Leaning over, she took those full, pouting lips into her own, claiming them. He was too irresistible, the way he brooded. He kissed her back heartily. 

“I’m still punishing him for leaving me,” she said when she pulled off of him, keeping her hand in his curls. 

Tormund considered this. “Punish him another way.”

“No,” Jon said. “I want to take my punishment. The one you wanted to give me. It wasn’t right for me, to ask.”

“You stop that," she scolded, and smacked his arse with her palm. He was twitching his hips into her as he said it, probably didn’t even realize it, but he needed to watch out. "Get up for a minute, love. Go to your knees.”

Jon said “Yes, my lady,” and moved gracefully, doing as he was told. When he was on his knees, he folded his hands behind his back and looked at her, waiting.

“You were right to ask, Jon Snow, we both told you. Asking was what I was waiting for. And your punishments are my decision, not your own.” She looks at Tormund. Gives in. 

“I’ll give you a choice, then,” she tells Jon. “You wait until tonight, and I’ll take care of you. You’re not allowed to come inside of me yet. I’ll use my hand. Or you can let Tormund fuck you and see to you right now. You decide.”

“And when we give you a choice, we mean it,” Tormund said. 

“He’s right. There’s nothing we’re looking for, no secret right answer. It isn’t any trick.”

The undoing of Jon Snow was a beautiful thing to watch. Her fancy lord crow, who had been so proper when she met him, was a flushed and panting mess, his member surging, his hair wet with sweat, eyelashes clumped with tears, the scent of Ygritte still on his face, her taste on his lips. He sat back on his heels, and bowed his head, and said, 

“Tormund, please. My lady.”

Tormund looked at Ygritte. She nodded. She couldn't say honestly that she wasn't as anxious to see it as Jon suddenly was for it to happen. 

"All right then, love. I'm handing you over to your Ser Tormund now, you understand? You've got to obey him as you'd obey me."

Jon looked at them both with such trust shining in her eyes that it was all Ygritte could do not to go to him, and take him up in her arms.

"Oh lad," Tormund said. "You won't regret trusting me. Normally, you'd see to me first, and then I'd decide whether you get to spend or not. That's how it will be, do you understand?"

"Yes, Ser," Jon said, the expression of pain and desire on his face making it clear the boy was utterly destroyed.

"But tonight I'm going to see to you first. And then you can decide if you want to repay the favor. All right?'

Ygritte's hips gave their own little wriggle of arousal as Jon Snow cast his eyes down submissively, and bit his lower lip before nodding.

"Yes sir," he said. "All right."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s porn. That’s all.

Jon regretted it almost immediately.

Reality crowded in, and Jon realized with startling clarity that he was on his knees, naked, his cock surging almost angrily away from his body, with his best friend and his lover both examining him with measuring eyes. “Gods,” he breathed, and looked away from them, looked down, letting his curls fall about his face, trying to shield himself. 

“Straight back into his head,” Ygritte sighed. “Even after all that whipping.”

“Oh, he’s new to it all,” Tormund said gently. “And complicated, you said it yourself. Give him a moment.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed with the humiliation of having them talk about him like this, right in front of him.

“I don’t think I can—“

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to now, lad,” Tormund said. “Or I’ll beat your arse bloody, don’t think I won’t. Shouldn’t like to do it, but I will, if that’s what you need. Understood?”

The command calmed Jon, somehow, enough to be able to raise his eyes to meet Tormund’s. “Yes ser,” he answered.

“Good,” Tormund said. “Now.” Jon watched as the man’s eyes wandered down to Jon’s cock. “You’ve truly never lain with a man?”

“No ser,” Jon said, shaking his head. Tormund made a face, a mixture of disbelief and displeasure. “I’m sorry,” Jon added.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Tormund said matter-of-factly. “There’s a chance I’ll let you fuck me eventually, if you’re very good, but it’s not going to be today.” And then, before Jon could even think about what this meant, Tormund took Jon under the arm and drew him up to his feet. The gesture wasn’t rough, but it was commanding, and Jon waited to be told what he’d done wrong, what he was about to be punished for, because it felt like a punishing sort of action. It felt distinctly as if he was about to be put over a knee.

But Tormund only turned him, gently, with pressure to his arm, so that Jon was again facing the altar stone. Jon instinctively began to bend forward, to brace his hands on the rock for a thrashing, but Tormund clucked his tongue.

“No you don’t,” he said, and turned Jon around. “Sit.”

Jon sat, the cold of the stone pressing into his buttocks. He shivered. He turned his gaze up to Tormund, wary of what was next to come.

“Put a fur under his poor arse,” Tormund said, noticing the shiver. He could feel Ygritte roll her eyes, but she came to him and motioned for him to stand, placing a fur for him to sit back down on. “Told you he was gentler than I,” Ygritte said quietly. Then she placed her hand on Jon’s cheek and looked into his eyes, smiling at him approvingly, before stepping back again. It calmed Jon, and he was filled with a strange pleasure, to be able to satisfy them both, just by obeying. That it could feel good to all three of them felt like an almost unbelievable luck.

Tormund dropped down to his knees in front of him. His friend looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “I’m doing this because you’ve been such a good boy, to ask for what you wanted. But it won’t always be this way, you understand?”

“Yes ser,” Jon said, his voice coming out a desperate sort of gasp. With Tormund kneeling there, so close to Jon’s member, he could swear that every ounce of blood in his entire body was trying to force its way into his cock. He knew what was about to come and he couldn’t believe it—he’d never had a man put his mouth on him before. Jon looked to Ygritte. She was sitting close by on another boulder, watching. When Jon’s eyes met hers she smiled.

“Don’t you worry. I’m going to enjoy myself plenty, just from here.”

Jon nodded, and looked back at Tormund. “So am I,” the man growled, and then he bent his head toward Jon’s groin. What came next surprised Jon. Rather than swallow his cock in one great gulp, as Jon expected a bear of a man like Tormund to do, Tormund placed his lips on just the very tip of it, and kissed it with a shocking amount of tenderness. It practically melted Jon. It was all he could do to hold himself up on his palms, not to melt into a pool of something warm and glowing atop the altar stone.

“You have such a beautiful cock, lad,” Tormund said. “Such a pretty little thing.”

Jon frowned, not knowing if Tormund was calling his cock little again, or simply remarking that Jon himself was small, but he supposed he was going to have to get used to Tormund embarrassing him about his size, since he seemed to enjoy it so. And, truth be told, the way it embarassed Jon made him squirm his hips with arousal.

“Thank you, ser,” he said, and Tormund grinned and flashed his gaze up at Jon for a brief moment before flicking it back down to Jon’s cock. Then Tormund growled—an actual growl, beastly—and drove his head between Jon’s thighs, nestling his face into the area between Jon’s cock and his stones. With this, Tormund began to devour him. He kissed at Jon’s inner thigh, first one, then the other, and when Jon began to pant with the pleasure of the sensation, Tormund nipped at him with his teeth. Jon let out a gasp, and wanted to moan the man’s name, but he remembered his command was not to speak, and bit down on his lower lip, holding it in.

Tormund pulled one of Jon’s stones into his mouth with a little pop, suckling at it like a teat. Ygritte had never done such a thing, and Jon let out a long moan. Then Tormund released that one and drew the other into his mouth, rolling it about on his tongue, and Jon’s arms went weak, he threw his head back, struggling to hold himself up.

Tormund ran the flat of his tongue up the shaft of Jon’s cock, catching the little pearls of spend that had already sprung. “Mmmm!” Jon groaned, biting on his lip, unsure if he was going to be punished for sounds, as he’d been ordered to keep silent. Then Tormund flicked his tongue, which was surprisingly agile and precise for such a lumbering man, over the tip of Jon’s cock and into the slit. Jon let out a long, ragged moan, unable to keep it in. He was about to fall back, but instead he wrapped his hands in Tormund’s hair, holding on for dear life. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch Tormund like this, right now, but his body did it before he could think.

Then Tormund swallowed his cock. Took the entire thing into his mouth and sucked on it, pulling at it hard. Jon bit his lip so hard he thought he would bleed, and his friend began to move up and down his shaft. It was warm, and somehow gentle and commanding at once, and Jon’s hips fluttered with the urge to buck up into Tormund’s mouth, but he knew that wouldn’t be allowed. He let out a groan and then bit down again, trying to obey his order, unable to stop tortured moans from escaping.

“The boy’s going crazy trying not to scream your name,” Ygritte said.

Tormund pulled off quickly—a terrible feeling, Jon’s cock suddenly cold, and aching again. “Oh lad,” he said. “Go on and speak when we’re like this.”

Then he put his mouth back around Jon, and ran his tongue up and down the length of it, and Jon, freed at last, said “Tormund, oh gods, Tormund,” and fought again not to buck his hips up. Tormund moved his head up and down, up and down, Jon’s hands still in his friend’s red hair.

“Tormund,” he gasped. It was all too much, he was completely overwhelmed, and he was never going to last.“Am I allowed to come?”

Tormund managed to speak without pulling off Jon completely this time. “How do you ask nicely?”

“Please ser,” Jon said immediately. “Please may I come?”

“Ask yer lady,” he said, suckling at Jon’s tip again, and Jon fought not to orgasm as he turned to Ygritte.

“Please may I come, my lady?”

Ygritte’s eyes were shining. She was clearly enjoying herself, and that made Jon feel somehow embarrassed and proud at once, to be used in such a way, for them.

“What if I were to say no?” she said. Jon gasped, wide-eyed at her, and tried to pull away from Tormund, because he was so close, he was far too close—

“Don’t tease the boy,” Tormund said.

“Oh aye then,” Ygritte said. “You can come, loveling. Go on then for us.”

“Thank you my lady,” Jon said, nearly crying with relief. “Thank you ser—“ and then Tormund pulled hard at his member and Jon was coming, and coming, surging hot seed into his friend’s mouth. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe this strong, giant of a man was on his knees in front of him, taking his seed into him, Jon’s fingers in his hair. It almost didn’t feel right, but his brain spun up out of his body and his entire being shivered, and for a moment, Jon floated away.

“There’s a good lad,” Ygritte said reassuringly.

“Tormund,” Jon gasped, finishing, unable to believe the man capable of receiving that much of Jon’s seeed—Jon had the sense there had been more of it than usual, as he had been denied his orgasm for so long. Tormund let out a little grunt, and then pulled on Jon’s cock with his mouth,drawing out every last bit of spend as the peak washed over Jon in a glorious, heavenly wave, and then receded.

“Tormund,” he said again, and at last Tormund pulled off of Jon and grinned at him toothily.

“I’m all right, lad,” he said. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“But,” Jon gasped. He couldn’t believe the man had swallowed all of that. “Where did it go?”

Tormund frowned, and then let out a bark of laughter, understanding. “A little crow seed never hurt a man like me,” he says. “Aye, now I’ve swallowed a part of you, it only makes me stronger.” He raised his eyebrows at Jon, teasing, and then fell serious again. “Oh lad, that was so beautiful. You’re so beautiful. Such a good boy, you are. Lay down a minute love,” he said, and gratitude washed over Jon as he did, collapsed back against the hard stone, not caring how hard it was, or cold, because his entire body had gone boneless and he could not hold himself up a minute longer.

“Such a beautiful boy, you are, Snow,” Tormund crooned, rubbing soothingly at Jon’s thighs, at his calves. “Such a beauty.”

Jon panted, catching his breath. Coming back down to earth. After a moment, his breath returned to normal, Jon focused his eyes on Tormund, but didn’t say anything. Just waited to see what the man would do.

“You can speak again now lad. Just wanted to shut you up a minute, get you out of your head, so you could enjoy that, eh?” He ran his palm up Jon’s thigh, then back down. “Now that you’re sated, you still want to try the rest?”

“Yes,” Jon breathed, certain. He wanted Tormund to take him, and he wanted it to happen before his brain could kick back in, before all his inhibitions could come creeping back and stop him.

Tormund’s eyes were strangely soft as he looked at Jon and nodded. Jon watched, flushed, as Tormund reached down and began to unlace his breeches. In just a moment, the man’s cock was freed from his trousers, springing forth, already hard, nestled into a thatch of flaming hair. Jon took the sight in, and nerves curled in his belly. Immediately he began to regret saying what he’d just said. His lips parted, and then, without meaning to, he spoke the words that were on his mind.

“It’s too big,” Jon said. It was, in fact, giant. He understood suddenly why Tormund insisted on calling Jon small—compared to Tormund, Jon was. The bear of a man had a bear of a cock, and Jon couldn’t see how it could comfortably fit inside a woman, let alone his—his— _there._

“Nervous, eh lad?” Tormund said tolerantly. “How bout this then. I’ll let you choose where you want it to go.”

Jon swallowed thickly, understanding his two options. His mouth was dry and nerves fluttered in his belly. But he’d be damned if he was going to back out of this now—here with Ygritte and Tormund himself, both watching. Especially after they’d done so much for him. Jon made up his mind.

He rolled over onto his belly. Tormund made a noise of pleased surprise.

“Told you he’s complicated,” said Ygritte.

They had thought Jon would want to take Tormund into his mouth, as Tormund had just taken him. But the thought of himself taking Tormund’s enormous member into his mouth, the way his own cheeks would puff with it, the way it would stuff him full—it felt lascivious to Jon, carnal, and filled him with more anxiety than the thought of letting Tormund enter him the other way.

But to just lay there and volunteer himself for it—it felt too vulnerable. He found he couldn’t do it, couldn’t volunteer himself for this, as much as he wanted it.

“Make it like a punishment,” Jon said weakly.

“That’s how you want it, eh, lad? All right then. Come here, my naughty little boy. What do you need, hmm?”

He grabbed Jon around the waist and pulled Jon’s hips toward him, canting them up, so that Jon's arse was raised, presented for Tormund. He tried to get his wits about him enough to form a reply, but made the mistake of taking too long. Tormund’s massive palm slammed down across Jon’s bare arse. Jon jerked with the impact, startled, and let out a little cry.

“I asked you a question, lad. What do you need?”

“A fucking,” Jon said, breathless. “Please, Tormund. I’m sorry. I need you to fuck me.”

“That’s right. That’s what naughty little boys get, isn’t it?”

“Yes ser,” Jon said, life beginning to creep back into his cock. He moaned, dismayed. Gods only knew how long it would be before the two of them decided to let him come this time.

“Naughty little crows like you get it right in the bum, don’t they?”

It was too much. He ached to be split open, undone. “Tormund, PLEASE,” Jon begged. Tormund spanked him again, as Jon had known he would.

“What was that?”

“Please ser. I’m sorry. Please fuck me, ser.”

“All right, lad. I’m going to give you what you need,” Tormund said, his voice suddenly gentle. He ran his broad, thick palm down Jon’s back, from neck to buttocks, cupping when he got to the curve of Jon’s arse, giving it a squeeze, then moving it, gently, to Jon’s stones. Jon moaned again as Tormund cupped them, massaging them a bit, both of them resting easily in the larger man’s palm. Then Tormund’s hand left him, and Jon thrust his hips backwards, unable to help it, hungry for his touch.

Tormund chuckled. “I know. Just a minute, lad. You’ll be grateful for this, you’ll see.” Jon heard a faint, steely sound, and turned his head to look. Tormund noticed and held up a flask so Jon could see.

“Little bit of oil,” he said

“For what?” Jon asked, absent-minded with arousal and nerves.

Rather than answering, Tormund poured the oil onto Jon’s arse, letting it drip thickly between his cheeks. “Oh,” Jon said at the sensation, and then Tormund’s palm was back, driving straight between his arse cheeks, and rubbing at his opening in a manner that, Jon thought, could only be described as authoritative, as if he owned this part of Jon. “ _Oh_ ,” Jon said again, and bucked his hips again, nervously.

“Sssshhhh, little crow,” Tormund said, placing his other palm on Jon’s back, holding him down. “It’s all right. I’m going to go real gentle on you, you’ll see.”

“I can take it,” Jon said, feeling suddenly defensive. Tormund chuckled again.

“He’s a good girth bigger than my glass one, so don’t be so sure about that,” Ygritte said.

Jon looked at her and suddenly he was nearly dizzy with sensation—he wanted Ygritte with him now too, all three of them together—but then Tormund thumbed again at his opening, and pushed a finger _in_ to Jon, just a little. Jon startled and gasped, then clamped his mouth shut, feeling foolish, and turned his head back away from Ygritte, shutting his eyes. He had to concentrate, if he wasn't going to make a complete fool of himself and end up spread open on the stone, begging for them both to punish him.

“Good lad,” Tormund said. “Good lad,” and inserted another finger into Jon, stretching him a little. Then he pulled out and massaged around Jon’s opening with his thumbs. “That’s it, boy. Relax into it. You ready for your punishment?”

“Yes ser,” Jon said weakly, and then he felt Tormund’s cock prodding gently between his cheeks. He inhaled sharply.

“Just a little at a time, crow. We’ll do this together,” Tormund said, and then he gripped Jon more tightly, with his thick forearm between Jon’s belly and the fur, pulling Jon toward him. “Take your punishment like a good lad,” he said, and pushed in a little further.

Jon groaned. “Yes, ser,” he managed. There wasn’t pain, not yet. He felt opened in a way that was exquisite. Vulnerable, and cared for at once.

“Little more?”

“Mmm hmm,” Jon said, and Tormund pushed in further.

“Deep breath,” Tormund said. “Stay nice and easy for me. There you are,” and Tormund pushed in more, and more, and then there was a stab of pain. Jon’s breath hitched in.

“Easy now,” Tormund said. “Feeling it there, eh? Can you take a little more?”

“A little,” Jon said, and Tormund pushed in more, and Jon suddenly gasped, and flopped like a fish, some strange reflex that he couldn’t hold back. Tormund’s arm at his waist caught him, held him steady.

“All right then,” Tormund said. “That’s enough then. That’s it for now.”

Jon heard a faint scoff from Ygritte, and guessed at the reason. “Are you all the way in?” he asked.

Tormund’s hand petted his hair. “No, but that’s all right. You’re doing so well, lad.” He planted a kiss on the back of Jon’s neck. “This is plenty for now.”

“I want all of you,” Jon said. “Please, ser. I can take it all.” He did want it. He also wanted to prove to Ygritte that he could take it.

“Oh, lad,” Tormund said. “That’s dear of you. But this is just right, for now. You let me decide how far we go, anyhow. That’s up to me.”

Jon flushed, embarrassed both not to be in charge of this entry into his body, and of how his body was unable, it seemed, to accept it all. He knew he was supposed to obey Tormund, but he couldn’t help it. He decided to risk their displeasure, risk punishment, even.

“Please, ser,” he said quietly.

Tormund didn’t scold him. He let out a desperate sort of groan and dropped his head onto Jon’s shoulder. Jon felt his breath warm against his neck. Tormund must have been braced, somehow, on his forearms, for he still had one arm under Jon’s waist and one at his neck, fingers teasing at his hairline.

“Fuck me,” Tormund muttered quietly, to himself.

“Yes ser,” Jon said, and Tormund laughed.

“All right then, lad. All right. We told you to ask for what you wanted, after all, didn’t we?” Tormund pushed up, his fingers and breath leaving Jon’s neck, but his arm remained at Jon’s waist, holding Jon to him, pressing. “Little more of this then,” Tormund said, and Jon felt more oil slide down the crack of his arse, pooling at the place where Tormund was in him, spreading him, a feeling of heightened alertness there at that part of Jon. “And some deep breaths.” He heard Tormund set the flask down, and then Tormund petted his hair again, rubbing down Jon’s back, soothing him.

Jon took a deep breath as instructed, and as he did, Tormund pulled out, just a little, and then pushed back into Jon, slowly. “Try to stay relaxed,” Tormund said, his hand on Jon’s back. Jon took another deep breath and focused on not tensing up, on letting his muscles go warm and easy. “All right?” Tormund asked.

“Yes ser. More,” Jon breathed.

Tormund sighed, and then pushed farther into Jon. It hurt a little, but not too much, as long as Jon didn’t tense up with the pain. “Take a deep breath,” Tormund commanded, and as Jon exhaled Tormund pushed in more, and more.

“It’s going to hurt, lad. More now. Are you certain?”

“Yes ser,” Jon insisted, though the pain was beginning to get to him, and he could hear it in his own voice.

“Don’t look at me,” Ygritte said. “I just drove right into him before he had time to know what was coming. Think it was easier, in a way.”

“What—“ Jon said, and then before he could say more, Tormund did exactly as Ygritte described. He drove into Jon, and it hurt, and Jon’s mouth opened and a little noise of protest escaped before he clamped it shut, biting down on his lip, burying his head in his arms.

“Are you all right, lad?” Tormund said, concern clear in his voice. He stroked Jon’s lower back as he did.

“Yes, ser,” Jon said, because it was all right. There was pain, but the pain faded quickly into a sort of uncomfortable awareness—the stab, the sharpness went out of it. “Is there more?”

“No, that’s it. That’s all of me,” Tormund said. His voice was indulgent, approving. “What a good boy you are. You’ve got all of me in you now, such a good lad. Isn’t he?”

“Aye,” Ygritte said, and Jon’s muscles relaxed, a little, just to hear her voice soft with approval. “He is indeed.”

Now that the shock was over, Jon could feel Tormund’s balls along his arse, his warm belly pressing into him. He was too full, like Tormund had split him open, but Tormund was holding him, lips pressed to his ear, muttering soothing things, and he felt like it was a discomfort he could reckon with.

“That’s a good lad,” Tormund said. “Such a good little lad,”

“Tormund,” Jon said. “Please.”

The man grunted. “All right,” he said, and then he began to move inside of Jon, just a little at first, an easy, exploratory motion from side to side, and Jon let out a long groan. He could feel his rim stretching, tender and tight, around Tormund’s hard cock, and he couldn’t help it—as Tormund began to thrust, ever so gently, in and out of him, Jon felt his toes curl, his mouth opened but no sound came out, his entire body going rigid. And Tormund sensed he was struggling, perhaps, because he put his hand back in Jon’s hair and gripped it, commandingly, and then growled,

“Take it.”

A command, and one Jon could obey. The fight went out of his body and he collapsed, flopped back onto his belly, and hung loose in Tormund’s arm. Tormund pulled Jon into him at the hips and then began to fuck him good and proper.

Jon heard the little groans and noises escaping from his mouth, but was too wrecked with sensation to care, as Tormund fucked him open, the feeling of being cracked open somehow not just in his body, but deeper, somewhere inside. “Ohhhh,” he heard himself moan, as Tormund was able to begin to thrust into him more forcefully, Jon’s insides offering less resistance. “Tormund, it’s good.” He was shocked to hear himself say it, even more surprised to know it was true.

“What do you want, little crow?” Tormund said, his voice a gentle sort of growl. “Hmmm?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon said. “More.”

An affirmative grunt, and Tormund’s planted his hands on either side of Jon and began to pound into him vigorously. “This?”

“Yes,” Jon said, his body jerking with the force. He’d never known it could be so forceful, had never known the way that force could make him feel soft and safe. There was a burning ache where his rim stretched to let Tormund in, and a deeper sort of ache inside. He looked at Ygritte. She was watching, the expression on her face pleased, and aroused. When she saw him looking she smiled at him. Jon smiled back.

“Oh lad,” Tormund groaned, and then he drew Jon up, onto his hands and knees. Tormund’s fingers clawed at either side of Jon’s hips, digging into him, as he pounded into Jon. Then Tormund hit a spot inside of him, and Jon threw his head back as pleasure washed over him. He remembered the same thing happening with Ygritte, this exquisite sensation. His limbs began to shake.

“Ser,” he panted. “I think I’m going to—may I come again?”

“Yes lad. Go on,” Tormund said. He wrapped a hand around Jon’s cock, and pulled on it, and after only a few moments, Jon moaned with release, his seed spilling onto the ground beneath him.

“Very good,” Tormund said, caressing one cheek of Jon’s arse. Then he placed his hands on both of Jon’s hips again, and holding Jon to him, thrust, his hips smacking Jon’s buttocks, the sound of flesh on flesh ringing through the cave, and then Tormund was letting out a great booming moan and cresting, spilling hot seed into Jon, Jon’s limbs shaking as he struggled to stay on his hands and knees, to stay strong for Tormund as he came.

As soon as the moans of his crest subsided, Tormund wrapped his arm back around Jon’s waist, catching him. Now that the act was over, Jon suddenly felt uncertain, and vulnerable. Then Tormund drew him up, and crushed Jon to him, Jon’s back to Tormund’s chest. He wrapped his hairy arms around Jon’s middle and pulled him into him, hard, and Jon let his muscles go limp, let Tormund hold him like that. Tormund sunk back onto his heels and Jon sunk with him, so that he was practically sitting on Tormund’s lap as the man held him, his chin hooked over Jon’s shoulder. He placed a kiss at Jon’s neck, brushed his hair, damp with sweat, off his face.

“Little crow,” he crooned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Jon said, allowing himself a moment—just a moment—to feel safe and cared for, here in Tormund’s arms, and not foolish. He caught his breath, and let Tormund hold him. Just as he was ready to turn and look for Ygritte, to see if she was pleased, she was there in front of him. She pushed his damp hair out of his face and Jon realized he was smiling at her like a simpleton.

"Was that good?" he asked her.

"Oh yes, loveling. It were very good all right," she said. She kissed him, claiming Jon's mouth in her own. At last she broke the kiss and wrapped her arms around both of them, so that Jon was pressed into Ygritte and Tormund at the same time, his face in her breasts, Tormund's arm at Jon's hips, and Jon had not, he realized, felt so safe, or so good, in a very long time. 

He had not felt so good before, ever.


End file.
